Draugrs and Dragons
by The-First-Step
Summary: A strange and secretive woman, who is more than what she appears, joins the company of Thorin Oakenshield. Can she prove to them that myths and legends aren't all they're said to be? 14th Member Fic - OC/Thorin, Kili/Tauriel, Fili/Sigrid
1. Chapter 1 - Stormcrow

_It has been a long time since I wrote on FF, but this story would not leave me alone. I can't promise quick updates, as I am undertaking a double degree in law and international studies, but I will endeavour to get these out whenever I can. This chapter is essentially setting up the mystery that is my OC Ceridwen, no Thorin or Bilbo yet, but Gandalf makes an appearance and I promise the next chapter will introduce everyones favourite characters._

As always, I own nothing but Ceridwen. All works are the respected property on J. R. R. Tolkien and co.

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Chapter 1 - Stormcrow

Sunlight was fading as Gandalf reached the edge of the great northern woods. It disappeared swiftly as he moved under a thick canopy that swayed with every twilight breeze. Shadows danced across the massive, pale-barked trees and deep roots carved twisted  
paths across a floor littered with fallen leaves and rotting branches. After a few whispered words the pale talisman atop Gandalf's stave began to glow softly, illuminating the leaf-strewn ground around him. There was no path. Very few ventured here,  
so the absence of a path was not unexpected, but it seemed almost unnatural that these wild woods held no sign of trespass. Gandalf's head snapped up at the sound of a soft crack. Seeing nothing he drew his grey robes closer and made off into the  
dim woods. The air was cool but not unpleasantly so and Gandalf breathed in the cloying smells of sodden earth and wood. Far from the world of Men or Dwarf, these fresh odours were a welcomed relief, a step back to gentler times. The hunters and shepherds  
he had encountered often spoke of the woods with trepidation, telling tales of lost souls and ghosts beneath those ancient, swaying bows. Even the bravest of them acknowledged that they avoided the place wherever possible. Gandalf chuckled. Quite  
the reputation had been built beneath this canopy, but was it deserved? Another click made him pause but his light revealed only some rapid, furry creature scampering into the thickening undergrowth. He let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been  
holding.

"Pull yourself together." He murmured firmly, giving himself a little shake. He was an Istari for goodness sake. Looking up he saw that the day had finally given way to night and the way was lit by only gentle ribbons of moonlight and flicking, distant  
stars. By their positions he checked to make sure he had not strayed too far off course. Resuming his journey, he trod carefully between the trees. Nothing but a soft rustling marked his passage deeper into the forest. Eventually he reached a clearing,  
a space no more than a dozen paces across, where a great tree stretched tall towards the sky. Its roots were grounded in a great earthen mount, about half the height of a man, and Gandalf paused to take in the great sight. The trees dark branches  
were bare of leaves, their skeletal limbs a steep contrast to its pale, foliage filled neighbours, but there was a beauty in its differences. He was about to move forward when a cold breath swept past his ear. He whirled around to find… nothing. A  
soft laugh reached his ears. Another draft by his other ear made him turn again, just in time to see last traces of fabric disappeared into the darkness near the great tree. He moved towards it, staff held high.

"It is not wise to wander these woods alone, _Mithrandir_." The voice seemed to issue from everywhere and no-where at once. It was soft and rasping like a whisper after shouting, but was unmistakeably feminine. Gandalf raised an eyebrow and step  
forward.

"Then it is a good thing I am not alone." He answered and a faint chuckle reached his ears. He moved towards the mound, finding a round entrance at its base that he had to stoop to enter. The inside of the mound was hollow and the roots of the tree above  
provided strange pillars that kept the small cavern from collapsing. Turning this way and that, Gandalf saw immediately that it was empty.

"Might I have the pleasure of seeing you again… Ceridwen?" He asked, seating himself by the door. The room seemed to dim despite the valiant glow of his staff and an unmistakeable chill seeped into the air. Beneath it Gandalf caught a strange scent. It  
was a sharp, unpleasant smell and growing stronger by the moment.

"There is very little to see." That sighing voice was closer now and suddenly Gandalf was aware of a shape in the dimness. It was the faintest silhouette of a person, barely noticeable, but as Gandalf raised his light higher the figure became clear. Ceridwen  
emerged from the darkness, her face mostly obscured by long dark tresses that fell past her hips. She was garbed in ragged clothes, stitched together in a piecemeal mess of muted grey and black and over her shoulders was a dark cloak that, despite  
its obvious richness, failed to hide how painfully thin she was. She held stick thin arms akimbo.

"Well Mithrandir, I am seen. How do I fare?" Her voice was stronger now. With a small wave of her right hand a single, near-spent candle flared to life. It cast a tampering, flicking light around the small space, revealing a bundle of rags in the corner  
that could only serve as her bedroll. Gandalf cocked his head slightly.

"Impressive, your skills have grown these past years." He remarked and she tossed her head.

"Time is a great teacher, I have had many years to practice." She replied tartly.

"I can do many things now." A pale finger stretched towards him through the darkness. Skin, pale to the point of being blue, clung to gaunt bones and knuckles.

"I will not ask why you have come, for no doubt you will tell me this in time, but I will ask that you put that light out." She asked in a voice brokering no argument. Gandalf glanced at his staff.

"Would you deny an old man his light, Ceridwen?" He asked and again her head of long hair tossed, but with irritation this time.

"We are both old Gandalf, and you would have a light." Ceridwen murmured and they both glanced at the candle. Gandalf waited. She sighed.

"And it would be only momentarily. You have caught me unawares and I… I am not in a state to be seen." She finished, her hand falling limping to her sides. Gazing at her Gandalf felt a familiar stir of sympathy well in his breast.

"You need not hide from me, my dear, for I know what you are and what you hide." He said kindly but did as he was bid. The light of his talisman died and he watched as her head rose slowly. A pair of golden eyes met his own but dark tresses still obscured  
most of her face. He could make out only those eyes, and the death-like paleness of her skin. He waited but she would reveal no more.

"My dear, you have hidden for far too long. How long has it been?" He asked with a sigh and she raised a should in response, turning away to move to her bed. With her back to Gandalf, Ceridwen's hands moved faintly through the dark.

"Many a year has passed, but I forget the number now." With a final flourish, she turned back to him. The left side of her hair was swept back over her ear revealing high cheekbones and those great, glittering eyes that seemed to absorb her whole face.  
She would have been beautiful, for a daughter of Man, if not for the sunkeness of her cheeks and strong nose. However, the most astonishing thing about her was the intricate, dark blue markings that wound their way from the sides of her neck, around  
her face and into her hairline. They stared at each other in silence.

"Ceridwen, you must know why I am here." Gandalf murmured and Ceridwen sighed.

"Please, enlighten me."

"The FourthAge dawns. Shadows stir around us and you hide yourself away in these woods as though you believe they will not come for you." She scowled, lips curling back from stark white teeth.

"Are you asking me to leave? With you?" Ceridwen sat herself down on her rag-pile bedroll, leaning back into the shadows. Gandalf's eyebrows drew together in a tight frown.

"I fear nothing, not pain nor death. All I want is to be left in peace Stormcrow. I am better off that way." In desperation he pressed on. If what he had read was true, it was imperative that she left these woods, and soon. Her powers had grown, he could  
feel them, and it would not be long until other, fouler things came to claim them, with or without her consent.

"You belong with your people." At her snort he pressed onwards.

"You belong with the people of this world, you have as much right to dwell within it as they."

"The people of this world decided a long time ago that I did not belong with them, and I have no desire to challenge that. What use have I for anything or anyone outside these woods?" She challenged, her arms coming to fold beneath her thin breast. Gandalf  
tried not to sigh.

"You said before that you could not remember the years, but I do. You have waited almost too long, your time has almost run its course, and if you remain here, your fate is sealed – are you saying you wish to remain here, and as you are, for all time?"  
His words struck a cord. She threw herself to her feet.

"I did not choose this life!" She screamed.

"No more than the bird chooses to have wings, or the bug to crawl, but if I must beg and cower before the world of Men for salvation then you can forget it, I'd prefer to rot here – as I am!" For a brief moment her control wavered and her face changed.

"I wouldn't speak so soon, my dear." He murmured pointedly, and she glanced down, hands flying to her face and she whirled to face away from him. He clucked.

"Ceridwen, I do not seek for you to enter the world of Men unwillingly." He began gently, coming to his feet slowly. He winced as a gentle crack sounded from beneath his boot. Looking down he surveyed the now crushed skull of a rat. His gaze moved from  
it to other small bones that, he now realised, carpeted the ground. He tilted his gaze back to hers, and found her chin was raised defiantly, as though daring him to ask.

"As I said, I am better off alone." She said and Gandalf frowned, truly frowned, for the first time. His temper finally flared.

"You are barely existing child! This life, this meagre life on the fringes of the world, is not what you are worth!" He snapped, moving to stand before her. She recoiled ever so slightly and instantly he calmed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I apologise Ceridwen, I mean you no harm but I would be a fool if I did not see the toll this life has exacted upon you." Her eyes watched him intently and he could sense the magic dancing at the tips of her fingers, ready to be released. He took a step  
back and she relaxed.

"Tell me, does it truly satisfy you?" Gandalf asked and the girl swallowed heavily.

"I admit that it gnaws at me, like an itch that cannot be scratched or some hunger never to be fulfilled, but I swore…" He interrupted her.

"Your vow does not mean you have to waste away, destroy yourself. There are ways to take without…" He could not finish and she chuckled dryly.

"I know Mithrandir, can you not see that these bones are old. I have learnt to control what would come so naturally, it simply took… time." He looked up and caught her staring at him thoughtfully, her head cocked ever so slightly to the side. Her question  
was obvious.

"I have come to tell you that there is hope, that I have found it." Her body stiffened in surprise.

"What?" She asked quietly. Hope flared deep within those dark eyes, and for a moment a semblance of her former beauty returned to her wasted face.

"I believe I have found the means to end your curse, but it is far from here and you must go to it." He replied reluctantly.

"Of course I must." She murmured to herself bitterly, turning to face the wall. They remained quiet for a time, the only sign of life within that sunken hollow coming from the solitary flame. Finally she sighed.

"Where?" She asked and Gandalf hid his smile. Relief coursed through him as he took up his staff.

"Three days journey to the south-west there is a small village called Hobbiton. It is inhabited by gentle folk, half-lings, and there is a meeting there I wish for you to attend. Be there in a week's time – look for my sign on the door. I will explain  
everything then." He said and she cursed.

"More riddles Istar. Can you not give me some clue, please?" She asked, and the note of desperation in her voice made him pause. He sighed.

"Very well, a group of dwarves will soon march to reclaim their homeland. I believe their mission holds the key to your curse, or rather its end. In what capacity I do not yet know but I know that the line of Durin is your only hope, as you are theirs."  
He said finally and Ceridwen's incredulous stare was palpable through the darkness.

"Dwarves?" She asked uncertainly, and Gandalf nodded.

"Of Erebor. It lies to the East of here."

"I remember Erebor, a great stone city beneath a mountain, but how was it lost?" She demanded, but Gandalf was done with the conversation. He needed her curiosity, since her self-preservation was barely holding.

"That my dear is what you must come to find out." He said with a smirk. Her muttered curse brought a genuine chuckle to his lips. He turned to leave but a slight hand came to rest on his sleeve. He turned to look back at her. Up close he could make out  
more of her face. Gandalf was once again struck by the dark markings that framed her face, vivid as battle-scars against that pale, translucent skin, and those enormous eyes that drew all who beheld them under her spell. Where before they had been  
filled with suspicion and rage, they now glimmered with hope.

"So let me get this straight, you want me to join you, and a company of dwarves, on some harebrained quest that takes us half way across the continent to reclaim an ancient homeland and end some great disaster that you refuse to name, in the hopes that  
in doing so I end my curse and that of Durin's line?" Gandalf mentally tallied her question and nodded.

"I believe that covers it." He replied primly.

"By the Valar!" She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose between dainty fingers. Gandalf watched and waited as she muttered incoherently to herself, obviously deciding on her answer.

"And you promise that this is the only way?" She asked after a minute of consideration. It was the first time she had appeared truly vulnerable. Even when she had cowered before his temper there had been fire in her stance. Now she appeared so fragile  
the slightest wind would have broken her. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and his relief grew when she didn't immediately pull away.

"If there was any other way, my dear, I would have told you long ago." He said and she closed her eyes. Letting out a long breath, Ceridwen nodded.

"Very well. I will come." She said and Gandalf smiled.

"I'll see you in a week." He said.

"Til then, _Mithrandir_." She murmured. With a wave of her hand, the candle went out, plunging the hollow into darkness. Her shoulder seemed to disappear like smoke beneath his hand and when Gandalf reignited the glow of his staff, the mound was  
empty.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Ceridwen waited for the grey-bearded wizard to leave before alighting from her perch. Bones crunched and tendons cracked as she shifted from bird to woman, the pain fading as it always did by the time she had gained her feet on the ground. In this form  
the hunger was stronger. Her body trembled with the need to hunt, to feed, but she pushed it back to a dark corner of her mind. She tried to gather her thoughts, which were racing around her skull like dancers around a maypole. She was to leave this  
place, to travel further than she had ever gone before. Once that would have terrified her, but now she felt only calm acceptance. For many cycles she had felt a growing darkness in the East, a nameless terror that haunted her dreams and disturbed  
her thoughts. She could feel it searching, tendrils of malicious intent straining to find something, but what? She wasn't sure, but she hoped it was never found. She understood that desperate hunger well, but not the malice. She killed, or used to  
kill, to fulfil a basic need but this thing, she sensed, did not think like she did. Its malice was powerful, and it was aware of her. She had felt its eyes upon her dreams and knew that one day, when it was stronger, it would come. Mithrandir seemed  
as disturbed by it as she did, and what's more he'd piqued her curiosity. Perhaps there was an end to this cursed existence, and perhaps she could go home…

"What home?" She murmured bitterly. There was no home, not anymore, and even if the village of her birth still remained, it would house none she had known in her youth. They would be long dead by now. Shaking herself lose of useless thoughts she re-entered  
the mound that had long served as her home. There was little to gather. She drew a small, netted bag from the shadows near her bed and filled it with what few belongings she had, her herbs and powders of various uses, a comb she had received as a  
gift long ago, a sharp hunting knife. She drew a strong, smooth stave, about the height of her shoulder to the ground, out from under her furs. Grasping it tightly in her right hand, Ceridwen then secured the strap of the bag over her shoulder and  
exited the mound. The meeting was in a week, but she would need to strengthen herself before attempting to reach it. There was a village not far to the south and it would have what she needed. She was at loath to go but times called for such measures,  
so she drew her cloak closer to her and set off into the darkened forest.

The night was drawing to its end as Ceridwen reached the outskirts of the nearby village. It wasn't much, a collection of farmhouses and a string of shops along its central road, but it would be enough to buy a few provisions and rest. Her legs were aching  
from the unexpected trek, but she hadn't fed in days so it was hardly surprising that she had tired so quickly. The only lights came from the tavern, where dying lanterns still hung outside the front door, and though it was early she saw several people  
moving out from the shadows towards the fields, ready to start their long day there. She followed the main one that passed straight through its centre. It would eventually connect with the Great Eastern Road and had two intersecting lanes that cut  
across it at roughly 100 pace intervals within the city limits. She reached the tavern and pushed her way inside. Keeping the hood of her cloak raised, Ceridwen cast her gaze around the deserted room. It still reeked of the nights' entertainments,  
but there was a staircase in the far corner that would, she hoped, lead to somewhere she could rest. The landlord bustled into the room, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Wha d'yer wan?'" He shouted, by way of a greeting and Ceridwen rolled her eyes.

"A bed, please sir." She replied and felt his gaze roll up and down her body. She drew the hood further down her face. If the man met her gaze, he would be lost.

"I'm sure you do, but we don't do accounts here. It's coin, upfront, or nothing." He answered smartly, taking a step closer. Ceridwen held her ground, but her shoulders squared ever so slightly, a gentle reminder not to trouble her.

"You will have what you are owed." She told him, he grinned.

"Oh, I ha no dou't bout tha, lil' lady." He took another, bolder, step forward. She hissed and he raised an eyebrow.

"Cat ha claws aye see. Why don't ya just lower tha there hood and we'll discuss…"

"I'm not lowering shit." She spat and he chuckled patronisingly.

"Cannae just let any ol body walk in 'ere, gotta know ma clientele," From here she could smell rot on his breath, one or more of his teeth had obviously gone bad. A thin face with bulging yellow eyes peered at her through the gloom, and the grease in  
his hair would have waterproofed a jacket. Wonderful. She went to move away but he caught her wrist. She tried to wrench it back but his grip was stronger than she'd thought him capable of.

"Let go!" She yelled. His grip only tightened. She snarled and as she twisted away from him felt her hood slide back from her face. His grip slacken as he met her gaze.

"Wha the…" She held up a finger, concentrating the full weight of her power on his feeble mind.

"Stop talking." She ordered, feeling her words wrap themselves around his thoughts, take hold of them, mould them to her will. He clammed shut, his yellow eyes bulging then relaxing as his control slipped away. She leaned in close, despite the smell.

"You will give me a room, free of charge, and you will leave me be." She told him firmly, watching as he nodded. There was no resistance to him now.

"And if you ever lay your unwanted hands on another woman again, you will claw your own eyes out." She turned away from him and walked to the stairs. Looking around she saw him still standing there, as though in a daze. Her hunger gnawed at her but she  
knew she couldn't feed here, not with so many others around. Quickly she mounted the staircase, walked down the narrow corridor and tried the door at the far end. It was unlocked so she entered, finding a single bed with an accompanying table and  
lantern. A window on the far wall looked out over the main street, and through it the first rays of light from the new day could be seen. An empty fireplace in the wall would do little to warm the chilly room but Ceridwen never felt the cold, so it  
would not matter. Something about her nature prevented most bodily sensations except pain and hunger. Not that she understood exactly why. The best she could surmise was that, given she was not entirely alive, her body didn't feel and function like  
normal living things. Oh yes, being undead had its blessings… when it wasn't an absolute curse. With a scowl she slid the cloak from her shoulders and hung it on the hook behind the door. The shoulder bag she carried came to rest on the end of the  
bed, some of its contents spilling on the patchwork blanket that covered the mattress. Gazing at the window she made her way to it, catching her reflection in the old panes. How thin she'd become, and pale. Beneath the dirt and muck of the forest,  
her flesh was white as ice and stretched thin over hers bones. The only colour, as always, came from her tattoos. Feeding on rabbits and rats had done her no favours but it had kept her alive, of a sort. She would need something more substantial if  
she wished to make it to Hobbiton, and beyond. Looking down she saw her bare feet on the polished floorboards, small toes peeking out from beneath the old ragged clothes she wore. No wonder people thought her deranged. Returning her gaze to the window,  
her lips moved as she calculated how long she had until true sunrise. There was little time to waste, so she opened the window, taking in the chilly morning air. Without a word she coaxed her body through its painful transition, grimacing as her bones  
began to crunch and black feathers sprout from her arms, face, back…

After the pain had subsided Ceridwen settled herself on the sill, preening herself and stretching out her thin wings. Seeing everything in order she took off, catching the early morning breezes as she flapped towards a nearby barn-house. She spotted some  
clothes hanging over bushes behind a small cottage with a red tiled roof. They had obviously been left overnight to dry. She landed on the roof and waited, listening for the inhabitants movements. A soft voice, feminine in cadence, could be heard,  
and it was answered by an even higher voice. A child, she guessed. She waited, but no other voices made themselves apparent. She alighted from the roof, casting an eye over the clothes on the bushes. She snatched a few articles, a pair of leggings,  
what appeared to be a tunic and a leather jerkin. It was heavy, too heavy for her current form, so shift could only move in stunted leaps and bounds, towards the sound of running water. There was a river nearby, that wound its way through the gentle  
hills and farms, and she made her way towards it. When Ceridwen reached its gently sloping banks she dropped the clothes in her claws and prepared to land. Phasing back into her human form Ceridwen quickly cast a glance along the length of river and  
behind her towards the village, but the bank gave her some protection from immediately prying eyes and with dawn still to arrive she doubted too many people would be wandering this far from home. Satisfied she would have enough privacy to wash Ceridwen  
stepped forward into the shallows, wincing in mild disgust as a film of dirt rose from her skin as she entered the water. She knew the river should feel ice cold but all she felt was the gentle pressure of water on her body and the tangle of reeds  
beneath her feet. She dived beneath the surface and ran her fingers through the thick tangles atop her head, trying her best to separate the twisted strands. Resurfacing she turned her attention to her arms and chest, grabbing fistfuls sand from the  
riverbed and rubbing them along her limbs. With each scrape years of dirt floated away into the gentle eddies around her. Ceridwen flinched as her ministrations revealed the heavy scarring around her wrists. It had been so long since she'd been this  
clean she'd almost forgotten they existed. Staring at the raised flesh Ceridwen lost herself in old memories. Suddenly surrounding by the smell of blood, metal and sweat, the sound of raised voices, she felt the world around her recede. Her heart  
began to rise and her breath came hard and fast. A sudden noise made her start. She wrenched herself back from the brink and looked around, catching sight of a flock of bird rising from the field behind her. Shaking herself firmly, Ceridwen resumed  
her scrapings. By the time she was satisfied she was clean the sun was well and truly rising and flying back was out of the question. It would be too conspicuous. Clambering out of the water she moved over to the clothes she had dropped and pulled  
them on. The pants were a serviceable brown hue and slightly too big for her and the dark green tunic clung to her skin where it was still obviously damp, but both were at least clean and covered her legs and arms from view. She quickly put on the  
leather jerkin, which fit much better than either tunic or pants, and got to her feet. Her feet were still bare but that wasn't too much of an issue, it wasn't like she felt the cold and the soles of her feet were well beyond tough by now. She climbed  
up into the field and made her way back to the village, passing only a young boy with a gaggle of geese on her way. Though he had tipped his hat in greeting, Ceridwen had simply quickened her pace and hurried on, breathing a sigh of relief when the  
tavern came back into view. She paused, drawing back to shelter in the shadows of one of the buildings when she spotted people moving along the main street. A man in an apron was opening his shopfront, she could hear the unmistakable sounds of the  
smith's fires being stoked and a few women with baskets piled high with clothes were heading past Ceridwen towards the river. Keeping her head down she hugged the walls and crept towards the tavern, grateful when she journey went unnoticed by everyone.  
The taverns fireplace was now lit, and the smells of food drifting from the kitchen would soon awaken any guests that dwelled there. She hurried to the stairs.

"Miss?" She froze. Turning back she saw a young woman, no more than about 16 summers, standing by the door to the kitchen. She was a pretty thing, save for a small, rose-coloured birthmark across her upper left temple. Gentle brown curls were escaping  
the bonnet she wore and her eyes were honest and bright, as only those of a young disposition were capable. She was smiling at Ceridwen, though there was a curiosity when she took in her wet hair and bare feet.

"Ye came this mornin' aye?" The young woman pressed, and Ceridwen nodded, carefully to keep her face concealed as much as possible behind her hair.

"Ye must be starved, I ha 'ere some gruel, take a bowl and rest, Pa says ya not to be disturbed." Ceridwen nodded again and reluctantly accepted the bowl of steaming gruel from the girl.

"Thank you." She murmured and the girl smiled, her chestnut eyes sparkling.

"Ye welcome." She said and turned back into the kitchen. Taking the bowl upstairs Ceridwen quickly entered her chamber and closed the door behind her. She put the gruel down on the window sill and gathered the rags she had lost when she shifted that morning.  
They reeked of things better left unmentioned so with a wave of her hand she sent them flying into the empty grate. Another wave and they were alight, bringing a little heat to the room. Her ears suddenly pricked at a familiar sound. She knelt down  
and pressed her ear to the floor, smiling at the scrapings of rats below. Concentrating on the little beings, she felt their stirrings falter and finally stop. Holding their tiny minds at bay she dug her nails into the gaps between the boards and  
wrenched them up, revealing two huge furry rodents huddled together in the dark recess. She carefully scooped them out, placing them gently on the sill beside her porridge.

"Eat little ones." She whispered, allowing them to sniff the bowl curiously. They squeaked excitedly to each other and buried their snouts in the stuff. She coaxed them into eating it all, and while they lay sated drew a fingernail along the side of one  
of the rats. It tore through the soft flesh like a knife through butter. Ruby red blood oozed from the wound and began to drip down onto the sill. The smell was almost more than she could handle. She longed to simply lean it and drain the little thing  
dry, but she held back. Instead Ceridwen continued to channel calming thoughts into the rats brain, allowing it to feast while its blood began to run into the porridge bowl. She listened carefully to its heartbeat and when it began to die off, licked  
her thumb and pressed it to the wound. It closed almost immediately and Ceridwen released the rat from her control, watching as it squeaked in terror and ran off into the dark corners of the room. She repeated the process with the second rat. She  
then turned her attention back to the porridge bowl. With a slight grimace she tipped her head back and began to guzzle the contents. The blood hit her stomach and almost immediately the hunger began to fade. She drained the vessel dry and set it  
down, drawing a hand across her mouth. Faint smears remained and she quickly licked them off. Ceridwen refocused her attention on the walls and floors around her. She felt her power surge within her like a wave of warm water, spreading out from her  
centre to the very tips of her limbs. Silently she called for any and all inhabitants to come. Within seconds she could hear scrapings all around her.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Ceridwen stayed at the tavern for two more days, leaving only once to enquire with the innkeeper where she may acquire shoes. He had sent her to the village tanner who, after hearing she had no coin with which to pay, offered her a rejected pair that  
would otherwise have gone to waste. Thinking back on the last few days, Ceridwen realised that she had paid, in a way. While inside the tanners hut she had noticed a young woman lingering by the door, her eyes darkened hollows and her hue tinged silently  
yellow. An even older memory had stirred within her at the sight and she had called the woman to sit down.

"How old are you?" She had asked, feeling the woman's chilled brow, racing pulse and clammy hands.

"Score n' two summers, mi'lady." She'd replied and Ceridwen had reached into her bag, pulling a vial of dark green liquid from within. She'd pour four drops into a nearby jug of water and poured the woman a glass.

"Take this before you take any rest, it will calm your nerves and allow you to sleep. The babe will not take kindly to an exhausted mother." The woman's hand had flown to her mouth.

"Babe?" She'd repeated and Ceridwen nodded briskly, her ears picking up the faintest double thud within the woman's abdomen.

"Indeed, about a month or so I'd say. I'll tell you how to make the tonic, so you can use it after I go." The woman had thrown her arms around Ceridwen a happy cry escaping her. Ceridwen had quickly disentangled herself from the incoherent woman and fled  
the building. The next day, the tanner had arrived with her shoes, a brand new pair made of fine leather and strong laces. She'd been stunned, until he explained that his wife had been the woman she'd helped the day before and that, for the first  
time in over a month his wife had finally had a full night's rest.

"I cannae thank ya enough." He'd exclaimed, thrusting the boots into her hands and waving away her stuttered dismissal.

"Consider it a gift, for your help." She'd stared after him for a long time, before realising that she was in full view of the street and ducked back inside the tavern. From that moment on, the whole village had seemed to knock on her door. People had  
been pestering her for cures and concoctions for every ailment imaginable, but Ceridwen had sent all but a select few away. One had been the blacksmith's boy, who'd shattered a finger on his hand and needed splinting. Another had been an elderly back  
with aching bones. She had turned away three young men asking for the means to bed their sweethearts, giving all of them a piece of her mind for good measure. Now the sun was setting on the third day, and she would need to hurry if she wished to reach  
Hobbiton. Gathering her belongings, Ceridwen pulled her cloak on over her shoulders and exited her chambers. She made her way through to the front door, and with a small, parting smile to the innkeepers daughter, set off into the night.

* * *

noshade=""

 _Righteo, there goes Chapter 1. Did you like it? I'd love to know what you all thought, what you liked or didn't, so please drop us a review if you can! :) Thanks xx_


	2. Chapter 2 - Nevermore

**Chapter 2 - Nevermore**

 **I'm baaaack. Thank you to everyone who has so far reviewed, followed or shown even a little interest in this fic of mine. I really appreciate your input.**

 **I guess, a few things about me:**

 **I'm currently studying a double degree in Law and International Studies (so again, apologies for slow updates or responses),**

 **I live in Sydney, Australia with my parents, brother and cat (Hunter is the beloved pain of my existence) and,**

 **Not only does living in Oz mean my stories will be posted at unusual times but my spelling will reflect this (I will not be changing 'our's to 'or's or 's' to 'z').**

 **Okaaaay, to business. This chapter is the beginning of The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey - anything you recognise is the property of J. R . R Tolkien or Peter Jackson. Only thing that I own is Ceridwen (my OFC).**

 **WARNINGS: Swearing and violence.**

 **Thanks for reading xx**

* * *

Ceridwen knew she was being followed by the afternoon of the second day. She assumed that they were bandits, since she had passed only farmhouses along the road to Hobbiton and had avoided larger townships wherever possible. Sometimes circumventing a village had added an hour or so to her journey, but it was preferable to the alternative. Although she had made it through the village in the north, it was only a matter of time before someone began asking difficult questions. Best avoid the situation altogether. So she had stopped only to gather fresh supplies for her tonics and medicines or catch a few hours sleep beneath a hedgerow. She had lit no fires nor left a trace of her passage, yet despite these precautions she had caught the attention of someone. How? She had been so careful. Regardless of the how or why of their following, the fact of the matter was that she would have to deal with them soon. Their pace had been increasing throughout the morning and eventually Ceridwen would have to face them. She Sensed again. About half a mile back, her brushed against four minds. Four young men with one very determined purpose. Sighing she resumed her journey. No point dwelling on the inevitable, she would simply have to stop and feed. Moving around often helped to keep her terrible hunger at bay. And Valar was it back with a vengeance. Since her feast in the tavern, Ceridwen's body was craving better sustenance, and the journeying of the last few days had drained her rapidly. She felt stronger than she had in months, but if she faced them starving… Ceridwen didn't want to think of it. With enough preparation she could manage them, and so as the landscape around her began to change from open fields and forests to gentle woodlands and rolling hills, she started making her plans. The Western Shirelands were teeming with wildlife larger than the rats and flying creatures in the north. Ceridwen could sense deer and burrowing creatures moving around her in the wilderness.

The path she followed hugged the bank of a gradually widening river, whose murky waters seemed with life. Every now and again, a splash would sound and Ceridwen would catch the last traces of irrediscent scales delving back into the water. Birds were chattering and whizzing about in the spring air and she caught the faint hum of bees around the flowers on the banks. How lovely it was to be surrounded by living things again. The natural world was an open door, welcoming her back to where she belonged. She breathed in the warm, pollen soaked air, catching every scent and storing it to memory. She cast a glance back to the river. Eventually she would have to cross it to reach Hobbiton, and she was hoping to find some bridge or ferry that would do the trick, but she would have to deal with her unwanted visitors first. No sense bringing them to the meeting. A final bend in the river revealed a pale dot in the distance and, after she cast a firm eye around her, a smaller path that weaved its way towards a collection of evergreens about a hundred or so paces from the road. The pale dot was a ferry house, but it was too far for her to reach before her visitors joined her. The woods would have to suffice. Resettling her bag more comfortably on her shoulder, Ceridwen moved towards the trees. The wind danced merrily amongst the leaves overhead, and she stepped around a large oak, Sensing a herd of deer just ahead. She kept downwind, moving carefully along exposed roots to avoid disturbing the dead leaves underfoot. She reached a place where the trees thinned and gentle blue skies could be seen. She pressed her back to a large elm, before peering around cautiously to take stock of her options. A doe and her offspring were grazing on a nearby dandelion patch, but she discounted them immediately. A young male, not quite old enough to be driven from the herd, was straying close to her hiding spot. His heartbeat was strong and no illness or infection laboured him. She looked around for the sire, but he was nowhere to be seen. Only a collection of females, with or without their fauns, moved slowly around the clearing. Ceridwen realised her time was rapidly running out. She focused her attention on the young male, filling him with the instinct to stray even further away from the herd. As he drew closer, she turned her attention to the others, urging them to leave. Daintily, the young buck picked his way towards her, stopping here and there before rounding the tree and catching sight of her. Brown eyes widened and he was perched on the point of flight, but Ceridwen quickly enclosed his mind in a calming balm. He quietened and she stepped closer. Kneeling down she ran a hand along his back, whispering to him softly.

"It's alright little one, it'll be over soon." She unslung her back and removed her cloak, laying it out neatly on the ground. From her bag she removed a large blown-glass bottle and a small clay jar. The bottle was about the size of her fist and dark purple. She unstoppered in and set the lid aside, turning her attention to the clay pot. She opened it and smeared her fingertips with its dark green contents. A useful paste, made from the roots of a flower that bloomed for only one month in a year on the northern steppes. Ceridwen drew her fingernail across the deer's chest, just the inside the foreleg but avoiding the major arteries that would bleed the poor creature out. She smeared the paste onto the wound and bent forward, pressing her lips to the soft flesh and feasting quietly. The warm, metallic liquid was like a spike of pure adrenalin through her veins. It hit her stomach instantly and sent her mind reeling. In her frenzy she almost forgot to listen to its heart… and the world around her. Her Sense flared and she stopped. She sniffed, catching a new scent on the breeze. Sweat, earth and a scent she couldn't quite name drifted towards her. Whoever this person was, they were much closer than the bandits… how in all of Middle Earth had they gotten so close?! She finished up, placing the glass bottle to the wound and allowing whatever she could get to trickle inside. She was running out of time. A crack of a branch underfoot made her panic. She set the half filled glass down, licked her finger and drew it across the young male's chest. The bleeding stopped immediately and she got to her feet, stoppering the glass bottle and releasing the deer from her control. It scampered off, bounding away to its fellows in the glade.

"Fuck." She was too late. Familiar pain coursed through her body, leaving her momentarily breathless, but as the stranger came into view across the clearing Ceridwen rose into the air with a triumphant caw. Settling herself on a nearby branch, she gazed down at the newcomer. It was a Dwarf, of all things. He was shorter than a Man, but very tall for a dwarf. Broad, like all of his kin, this one had long, dark hair streaked at his temples with strands of silver. His cloak was a midnight blue and a heavy looking broadsword swung at his left hip. The bones of his face were as sharp as the stones on a mountain and intelligent blue eyes eyes surveyed the clearing carefully. His gaze flickered to the deer, stumbling off into the distance, then to where it had come from. Ceridwen cawed softly. His eyes flicked upwards and a small smile broke across his face.

"A raven in the Shire, now there's a sight." He murmured and Ceridwen cocked her head haughtily. His stance relaxed and he stepped forward, coming across the glade to stand beneath her tree. He pursed his lips and whistled softly. She shuffled on her branch but kept her distance. He whistled again. Again, she felt something draw her forward, into those deep blue eyes. She actually alighted this time, coming to rest on a lower branch.

"That's right, I'll not hurt you." He murmured softly. Ceridwen cocked her head again and cawed for him to go. The sooner he moved on the better… there were bandits coming after all. She flapped her wings at him in warning. In this form she was useless, she would have to change back but that would involve this dwarf seeing her. She cast a glance to her clothing and provisions on the forest floor, and the dwarf's quick eyes spotted the movement. He rounded the tree, despite her harsh cries and stopped when he spotted her things.

"Ah, your master is at hand I see." He said, stooping to peer at her bag. Rage flashed through her and she swooped, brushing him across the back with her claws and coming to land on a nearby branch. He backed off, arms raised.

"I yield, I yield." She calmed as he walked away from her things, pointedly ignoring the curiosity rising in his clever blue eyes.

"Now, you seem a bit too…" What she seemed she never got to find out, because at that moment, the first of the bandits made their way into the clearing. She screeched a warning, launching herself into the air and flying at the man. Her movement took the dwarf by surprise, making him spin on his heel in the direction of her flight. As intended, he caught sight of the bandit. Ceridwen took the opportunity to swoop the bandit, causing him to stumble back and crash into his companions. It gave the dwarf a half second to prepare himself. A hand came to rest, lazily, on the hilt of his broadsword.

"Bloody bird! Clear off!" Ceridwen easily dodged the swipe aimed at her and circled back, cawing loudly. She burned to give them a real reason to 'clear off' but with the dwarf around that would prove difficult.

"Oh look lads, a dwarf far from home." The leader, or the one she assumed was the leader, sneered, strutting into the clearing. His friends followed suit, sniggering.

"Must have grown tired of snuggling with stones." Another called.

"Nah, they just snuggle each other. Everyone knows dwarvan women are myths." _You bastards._ Ceridwen cawed furiously. The dwarf however, seemed to take the insults in his stride. He remained quiet, only the slight whitening of his knuckles around the sword hilt gave him away.

"What do you want?" The dwarf asked and the Men smirked.

"Ain't it obvious, hand over you coin and we'll considered letting you go." The leader commanded.

"That is not going to happen." The dwarf replied evenly, his gaze flicking up to Ceridwen momentarily.

"I don't think you understand," Another of the thugs said thickly, looking askance at his boss before continuing.

"We ain't askin'." The dwarf simply smiled. He waited, standing casually without a care.

"And I don't think you understand, I'm not giving you anything. Now run along to your mothers and leave me be." He turned away, walking in the opposite direction from which he'd come.

"You can't hide her from us forever, dwarf!" Ceridwen froze. The dwarf paused, looking back at the bandits with a look of pure confusion.

"Who?" He asked, and the leader sneered.

"Don't be a dumb as you look dwarf. We've been following the lass for two days. She came by here not a half hour ago. If you're hiding her… let's just say I'll take real pleasure in testing just how tough that Dwarf hide is." He snapped, taking his sword from its sheath and stepping forward. The Dwarf shrugged. Almost incidentally, he moved to place himself between the men and Ceridwen's belongings. Ceridwen felt her chest squeeze painfully tight as she gazed down at this Dwarf who would defend another who they had never met. Her first instincts, it seemed, had been correct. This was a man, no not man, but Dwarf of honour.

"I have seen no woman." He replied coolly, levelling his gaze across the clearing towards them. His voice became hard as granite.

"And if I had, I certainly wouldn't be telling you where she went." It was enough to drive the leader into a frenzy.

"Get 'im!" He whispered and the three converged on the Dwarf, who smirked as he drew his broadsword from its sheath. No! Ceridwen launched herself at them, flying low and fast… Blinding pain lanced across her left shoulder. She cawed in shock. The world spun in a sickening spiral then came to a sudden stop as she slammed into damp, musty earth.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Thorin Oakshield was not lost. He refused to acknowledge the notion. There was simply no way that the King Under the Mountain could have gotten lost in the Shire. He'd simply taken the longer, scenic route. Nodding to himself Thorin strode confidently through the slowly thinning trees, feeling the earth gently rising and falling beneath him as he journeyed deeper into the realm of the Half-lings. He tried to curtail his disappointment, but the decision of his fellow Dwarf Lords gnawed at him like a physical wound. They would not help him or his people, their own kin! He understood their fears, knew well their desires, but could not fathom this desertion of their honour. Above all things, Dwarfs should know the value of their word. It was the only thing that separated them from elves after all. Thorin quickly changed tactics, dwelling on such things would only ruin his day. He let his mind wander to the meeting to come. If any of his brethren showed, which he very much doubted, he would tell them the Council's decision. They deserved to know the truth. His childhood friend, Dwalin, would be no doubt present and where Dwalin went Balin was sure to follow, to keep him in check. He knew his nephews, Kili and Fili, would be anxious to come. Dis had been on his back about it for weeks, begging him to send them home, but he could not deny either of them the opportunity to reclaim their home. What's more, they were of age… and would probably just ignore him anyway. He chuckled softly, thinking back on their dwarfling years when ignoring Uncle Thorin had been a favourite pastime of the young sons of … His brow crinkled as he tried to picture any others. Glorin and Orin perhaps, they would come for the honour of Erebor, but of others, save the Wizard, he could not say. Who would come to the call of such a ludicrous adventure. His thoughts were interrupted by the faint sounds of something moving in the woodland nearby. The trees had thinned even further, revealing in the distance what appeared to be a clearing. The shafts of daylight could be seen from 100 yards, the sun and skies would have their way it seemed. He paused for a moment then set off towards it. If he could garner the position of the sun, he would be able resume his route to Hobbiton with greater certainty. It was a welcome relief. Though the forests of the Shire were peaceful places, far from the realms of Dwarf, Man or Elf, he had been trekking through this particular woodland for a day or so. He was thus footsore and weary of travel.

 _A cold ale would not go ary either,_ he thought hopefully. At this point he would take even stale barn dregs from the barrel if it meant a bit of rest. Shaking himself of such nonsense Thorin cast his gaza about him and resumed his pace through the greenery. He could not deny the world possessed some fine treasures of its own but they paled to those to be found in the deep caverns of his beloved Erebor. Oh how he longed to walk its hallowed halls once more, to see his sisters sons see their birth-right – their home! A sudden sound made him start. He strained his ears, seeking some clue to what was around him, but all he could hear now was birdcalls, water… Water! He was close to a river, which in Shire was a good thing. Hobbiton was just beyond the Brandywine, so it would serve him well to follow one of its smaller limbs until he reached civilisation again. He stepped forward then froze as a strange sound reached him. A low mewling, or growling, reached his ears. Like something that a feral animal would make whilst feeding. Its tone was deeper than that of a fox but less animal than a wolf… His boot landed on a stick and it cracked. It was like a whip to the hide of cattle. Silence fell. A moment later something moved up ahead and he moved forward cautiously. Reaching the edge of the glade he looked around. A young deer stumbled out from behind a tree on the far side, a dazed look in its soft brown eyes. It bolted into the thicker underbrush and disappeared from sight. With a small smile he watched it disappear. Now, he was hearing things. Durin's Beard he was glad no one was around to see him start at… a scrambling sound carried across the glade. He paused at the unmistakeable sound of a persons clothing moving on leaves. Slowly he made his way towards the tree, rounded it and found… nothing. A flurry of movement made him glance upwards. He started at the sight of a large raven peering at him from a mossy branch. The Ravens of Erebor were a large breed, and this beautiful creature was surely of their kin. It was about three times the size of a regular black bird and its eyes gleamed with an uncommon intelligence as it fixed him with a molten stare. He glanced down and saw a cloak, a bag of provisions and a stave. He glanced back up at the raven, noting its gaze was unwavering. Thorin deduced it was no ordinary bird. A small smile twitched at his lips. A glorious creature to be sure, with not a glossy blue-black feather out of place.

"A raven in the Shire, now there's a sight." He murmured finally. If a bird had the ability to shrug, Thorin gathered that this one would have tried. The head arched proudly and Thorin sensed a feminine pride in its carriage. He smiled up at the raven, pursing his lips and whistling to her to come down. Sleek black feathers shining a rich, midnight blue jostled as she almost did as bid. He would have laughed if her caw hadn't been so fierce. Gentling his tone he whistled again and her head moved. Those enormous golden eyes, more human than avian, seeming to soften slightly and she jumped forward from her perch. With a startled caw she stopped herself just before launching into true flight, moving instead to settle on a lower branch and not the hand he had extended towards her.

"That's right, I'll not hurt you." He murmured and the raven cocked her head. It almost seemed as if she understood him. Perhaps she was a familiar for some herbwife or hermit, it would explain some things but not all. He cast a curious glance at the belongings on the ground and moved towards them. The creature cawed, a warning if he wasn't mistaken, and he smiled. He was about to speak again when her entire demeanor changed. She flapped her wings aggressively and Thorin noted that those brilliant eyes flashed momentarily from his to the belongings at the base of the tree. He rounded the tree, despite her harsh cries and moved towards the pack and cloak. A solo traveller, and by the looks of the bottles and ointments inside the netted bag, a woodsman or herbwife.

"Ah, your master is at hand I see." He said, stooping take a closer look. He ducked as her sharp talons brushed him across the back. A definite warning. He held up his hands, palms outwards, and wisely backed away. He didn't want to lose an eye after all.

"I yield, I yield." She calmed as he walked away from. Too clever. By now Thorin suspected that this creature probably belonged to some hermit, there was just no way a normal bird would be this intuitive or, as Kili would say, downright strange. He followed her movements curiously and she seemed to pointedly ignore him, turning her beak to those glossy feathers in a manner too deliberate to be natural.

"Now, you seem a bit too…" He almost jumped out of his hide as she let loose a sudden screech, launching herself into the air and flying towards a point behind him. The dwarf spun on his heel in the direction of her flight and immediately caught sight of three rather unpleasant looking Men. He would have chuckled as the raven swooped what appeared to be the leader, causing him to stumble back and crash into his companions.

 _Blessed bird._ He thought. A hand came to rest, lazily, on the hilt of his broadsword.

"Bloody bird! Clear off!" The young man, with oily, flaxen hair yelled, swinging wildly and missing her by inches. Thorin wanted to shout a warning, but caught himself. He had more pressing issues at hand than worrying after a blackbird. The leader finally caught sight of him and the three stopped dead in their tracks. A trio of rotten smirks flashed across their faces.

"Oh look lads, a dwarf far from 'ome." The flaxen haired leader sneered, moving into the clearing like a cock about his dawnlit duties. His two friends followed with pig-like sniggers.

"Must 'ave grown tired of snuggling with stones." A rather broad one murmured.

Throin rolled his eyes. How original. Did Men possess no imagination? His companion thrust his hips in a grotesque parody of a rut.

"Nah, they just snuggle each other. Everyone knows dwarf women are myths." To Thorin's internal surprise, the raven cawed furiously. He tried to shrug the words away, but it took all his self-control not to fall for the obvious bait. Besides, he reasoned, these waif-waisted pipsqueaks weren't fit to eat the dirt of a darrowdams' boots.

"What do you want?" He asked gruffly and they smirked.

"Ain't it obvious, hand over you coin and we'll considered letting you go." The leader commanded. Bandits? In the Shire? He scoffed.

"That is not going to happen." His gaze flicking up to the raven momentarily. She seemed to almost pulse with a quiet fury. Her talons were clenched tight around the branch she perched upon and Thorin almost felt concern for the Men.

"I don't think ye understand," He returned his attention to said pond-scum.

"We ain't askin'." Thorin simply stared at them. He was getting to old for this shit.

"And I don't think you understand, I'm not giving you anything. Now run along to your mothers and leave me be." With his piece said, he turned away.

"Ye cannae 'ide er from us forever, Dwarf!" Thorin paused, confusion flittering across his face. Then he remembered the cloak and provisions behind the tree. From this angle the bandits couldn't see them, but if he let them come any further they might.

 _Durin guide me._

"Who?" He asked, feigning confusion once more, and the leader sneered.

"Donnae sound as dumb as ye look, Dwarf. We've been followin' the lass fer two days. A sight fer these sore eyes ay tell ye true. She came by 'ere not an 'alf 'our ago. If you're hiding 'er… let's just say I'll take real pleasure in testing just how tough tha Dwarf hide is." He snapped, taking his sword from its sheath and stepping forward. The Dwarf shrugged. He moved to place himself between the men and the womans' belongings.

"I have seen no woman." He replied coolly, levelling his gaze across the clearing towards them. His voice became hard as granite.

"And if I had, I certainly wouldn't be telling you where she went." It was enough to drive the leader into a frenzy.

"Get 'im!" He whispered and the three converged on the Dwarf. They had moved barely a step when the raven soared over Thorin's head with a crazed shriek. She nearly reached the leader but one of his cronies managed to strike her wing with the broadside of his blade. With a shriek of agony she wheeled off course, disappearing behind one of the brushes to the edge of the clearing with a heavy thud. Thorin breathed deeply, knowing that a hot head in battle would get him killed. His feet gliding into a familiar stance as the first of the trio launched themselves at him.

It was the burly one with no originality. Thorin side stepped him and knocked the hilt of his sword against the back of his skull. The blow made the man stumble, a root caught his unsteady feet and he crashed to his knees. His blade scuttled like a snake over the leaves and came to rest far for his desperate fingers. Thorin whirled, his boot connecting with the man's chin. The thud of his giant body on the undergrowth was a satisfying one. Thorin straightened as the brute's companions roared. Now they both came at him and Thorin felt his lip curl. He waited, stepping from one place to another, avoiding their savage thrusts and meeting their charges head on with his oaken-shield. Each collision gave him some respite, for he was broader, denser, than they and the force would often throw them back a pace or so, but it was never for long and Thorin could feel the weigh of his journey beginning to seep into his bones. Suddenly, a savage kick from the ringleader caught him on the stirum. He crashed back, his chest aching and his eyes momentarily seeing double as he hit the forest floor. He scrabbled madly to rise… He sword was kicked away.

 _Great Durin not like this!_ He begged, and suddenly time seemed to freeze. Thorin suddenly caught sight of a thickening mist, moving its ghostly fingers across the glade towards them. He shuffled back, keeping his eyes on and it. The Men instinctively followed his gaze. As it crept closer, Thorin noticed the sunlight fading… As it disappeared completely an innate chill raked his bones and a shudder ran down the full length of his spine. It was as if Death itself had stroked his flesh. He seized his weapon and made to stand.

' _ **Save your energy Dwarf, these Men are mine."**_ Thorin's head whirled about as he tried to place the voice, which seemed to come from everywhere at once. It was a woman's voice for certain, but low and rasping, like a death rattle. What's more, the voice spoke to him in Khuzdul. Even amidst his confusion, Thorin's mind was suspicious of that secret speech issuing from such a soft voice… for indeed, it was too soft to be Dwarfish. He was about to retort when a figure emerged from the underbrush. It moved swiftly, too swiftly for him to truly see, the mist obscuring its features. The Men had frozen in terror and suddenly Thorin couldn't see one of them, a shriek was cut off somewhere to his right. The remaining Man began to whirl in a tight circle, coming close to Thorin. His eyes were wild with terror, madness had truly taken a hold of him.

"Stop it! Make it stop!" He screamed, the sword shaking violently in his grasp as he stalked Thorin through the mist.

"I am not doing this…" Thorin started and froze as the figure emerged from the mist. Thick black hair fell in tangles to her bare hips. It was her only covering and Thorin wondered if he should turn away. Before he could truly feel abashed however, she turned her back to him and he noticed ribbons of dark blue swirled down her thin back. They, and those that snaked down her legs and along her arms, were stark contrast to the luminescent, moon-pale flesh into which they were etched. Those same arms reached out, skeletal hands grasping at the Man. He screamed but could not move as the hands encircled his head. Thorin hung back. He couldn't see what occurred but a wave of fatigue overcame him. He collapsed back onto his back. His chest ached from where it had been struck and he felt his head begin to spin as the rush of blood began to drain away. His vision began to dim… a strong arm reached under his neck and lifted him carefully. A vessel was held against his lips.

" _ **Drink."**_ A firm voice told him, and he obeyed. As the bitter liquid hit his stomach the effect was almost immediate. His head cleared and his vision began to focus. Soon her felt the weight lift from his limbs and he turned his head to thank his rescuer, only to find her gone. He looked askance and just caught a glimpse of her disappearing into the forest, a whirl of dark hair and… his breath hitched. Eyes like molten gold.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Ceridwen almost ran the rest of the way to Hobbiton. Her shoulder was aching something fierce from the blow of the bandit's sword but she knew it would heal quickly. Her injuries always did. As she moved through the darkness, she was actually grateful for her abilities. Her breath barely came as more than a puff and her fatigue had faded with the deer's much stronger blood. After the confrontation in the woods, she was tempted to run all the way back to her forest in the north, but she had given her word to Gandalf and that was that. She tore along the bank of the river, skirting past more and more houses, feeling the road becoming smoother, its passage rising and falling amongst the gentle roll of farmable hills and dales. The night was upon her, thank the Valar, and she scouted every nook and cranny for Gandalf's sign. Through blazing windows she saw brief tableaus of everyday life, husbands and wives at leisure, children racing through hallways, cats jumping over books scattered on library floors. Simple folk these Hobbits, very simple. Their hearts were strong, comforting in their regular and unchanging tattoo. She moved onwards, her keen eyes catching a faint glimmer of magic at the top of a near-distant hill. A signpost told her the hill was called Bag-End, so she followed its direction along a steadily rising road. As she neared the top she saw a crowd of people moving out the front of a wide green door, buried into the underside of the hill. A tall oak graced its top, and Ceridwen judged it a finer specimen than the reedy, dying thing that had held up her dismal dwelling for the last century. From here she could just make out a glimmering, moon-pale rune.

 _ **Burglar.**_ She couldn't help the small quirk of her eyebrow. What on earth was Gandalf up to? She figured that she would find out sooner or later, so she turned her attention to more pressing matters, namely the entrance blocked by a wall of jostling dwarves. Bloody hell and a half! How many of these creatures were stumbling around? Behind them stood the old codger himself. His long beard tumbled down his chest like a waterfall and his pointed hat was tucked under his arm, almost completely shielded by wide grey sleeves.

"Gandalf?" She called out and the Istar whirled about. His face split into a wide smile at the sight of her.

"Ceridwen! Come my dear, Mr Baggins will be along shortly." He went to escort her closer to the round portal by her elbow but she tugged it away. He wisely retracted his hand.

"What is going on here?' She asked, nodding towards the arguing pile of people by the burrow door.

"Oh, your companions I take it." He answered primly and Ceridwen fought a groan.

"…in very poor taste!" A muffled voice yelled as the green door was violently flung open. Light spilled out onto the tidy lawn and Ceridwen beheld what she assumed was a young, male Hobbiton. Soft, curly hair the colour of browned autumn leaves graced his head and his brown eyes, though at this time wide with alarm, looked as though they belonged to a calm, measured fellow. He was about the height of her shoulder, which made him slightly taller than Gandalf's waist, and his feet were large, bare and hairy. Ceridwen listened to his heart. Racing like a horse at canter, yet steady as the others she had heard throughout Hobbiton. A sound, reliable heart, she decided. The squirming pile of dwarves at her feet began to move inside, past the stuttering and rather helpless Hobbit, choruses of delight ringing from the depths of the home – there were at least another four inside!

"Gandalf." The Hobbit sighed exasperatedly as the wizard bent down to gaze at him through the door.

"Bilbo, may I introduce you to a very dear friend of mine, Ceridwen Wyldfell." He stood back and Ceridwen froze as the young Hobbit gazed towards her. She held her breath as he ran an assessing glance up and down her frame.

"Good evening." He murmured and Ceridwen smirked.

"Not in the slightest. I've been brought halfway across the Shire, ran fell of three bandits and then discovered I may have 11 dwarves-" Gandalf cut across her. Clasping Bilbo's shoulder.

"Ah yes, your guests Bilbo, won't you allow us in to help you?" He coaxed and the startled Hobbit nodded.

"Ah yes, please come in." Ceridwen relaxed, cautiously stepping over the shallow doorway and into the warm, earthy home. When it was not filled with bumbling, clattering dwarves, she fathomed it would be a most comfortable dwelling. It was very small though. She had to duck, ever so slightly as she entered, and Gandalf was bent almost double. She Hobbit heard a crash from deeper in the house and rushed off with a cry of alarm.

"Do not touch that! Be careful! Oh!" Ceridwen watched in quiet amusement as the poor thing hurried here and there, trying to stop the hungry dwarves from taking foodstuffs from his larder.

"That's my chicken. My wine! Excuse me!" A dwarf who appeared to have an axe buried in his head growled at him in Khudzul, and Ceridwen watched as his companion with a hearing horn tried to explain the predicament.

"Come dear, let us go and help set the table." Gandalf murmured and Ceridwen followed him through the a small but well lit dining area, where a frenzy of activity was unfolding. Dwarves were laying out food, cutlery and glasses. Ceridwen hung back and drew her cloak closer to her face as several dwarfs looked at her and Gandalf. The wizard grabbed some nearby knifes and forks, promptly placing them down on the table. He rejected an offer of tea from a light haired dwarf, who turned to gaze at Ceridwen.

"Um…" He tried to peer under her hood and Ceridwen shrunk back.

"Please." She murmured and he smiled, offering her a small cup of sweet smelling chamomile tea. She clutched it more for the warmth than to drink it. Her whole body was in chills and shakes as she tried to blend into the walls and avoid interacting further with these boisterous beings. She noticed that Gandalf was counting the gathered party

"Fili, Kili, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Balin Dalin, Ori, Dori, Nori…" The axe-headed dwarf, who Gandalf addressed as Bofur spoke.

 _ **We are one Dwarf short of this party.**_ Cerdiwen swallowed. She didn't know if she hoped for or dreaded the arrival of the dwarf from the woods. The chance of him not coming to this party was slim and she didn't know what she was going to do if he did come and, furthermore, recognised her.

"I should never have come." She whispered, turning to leave the walked into the solid chest of a very tall dwarf indeed. He was holding a tankard in one hand and his head was shaved right down to its heavily tattooed scalp. Ceridwen quickly ducked behind Gandalf.

"Hey now, watch yerself." He murmured before looking up to Gandalf.

"Don't worry yerself, he's just late is all. He travelled north for a meeting with our kin, he will come." Gandalf looked relieved.

The white-haired dwarf from before came forward with some red wine, handing it to the wizard who drank it with a flourish.

"Come Ceridwen, to dinner." He murmured and Ceridwen sighed. Her stomach roiled, she ducked into an archway seeing it empty accept for the poor Hobbit. He was staring forlornly at his empty larder shelves.

"You were not expecting company tonight?" Ceridwen asked and he jumped. Turning to face her Bilbo shook his head.

"No, I mean, yes – of course, I'm always prepared for visitors, I mean, no! Oh!" He wrung his hands and Ceridwen felt a great stir of pity for the poor creature. She knew well what it felt like to be tugged into one of Gandalf's games.

"I'm sue it will be alright." She murmured, bringing her hood back slightly to finally meet the young hobbit's eyes. He gasped. He moved forward...

"Your eyes, they're like…" She quickly broke contact. She drew the hood down.

"Gold, I know." She said and Bilbo shook himself.

"Where are my manners? Bilbo Baggins, at your service." He said, holding out his hand and Ceridwen started. She gazed down at the extended appendage and allowed herself to relax, letting the hood come back down once more. To her utter relief, Bilbo just smiled.

"Well now, that's a better sight than the 12 others I've had this evening." He quipped and Ceridwen felt her chest tighten painfully. He wasn't affected? How? Why? Deciding not to push her luck she held out her own hand and clasped the smaller one gently.

"Ceridwen Wyldfells." She murmured and he smiled, not before his gaze slid over her shoulder and morphed into a picture of horror.

"Not on the table!" He cried and ran past her into the dining room. She whirled in time to see a young, blonde dwarf making his way down the centre of the table, tankards clutched in each hand.

"Seven hells, what have I gotten myself into?" She went after Bilbo, seating herself carefully out of the way, where she could observe the goings on but keep mostly to herself. A momentary hush fell over the room as every dwarf gathered buried himself in a tankard, Ceridwen sighed with relief. Then they all, as one, seemed to smack their lips and belch loudly. She couldn't help it. She snorted with amusement. Looking over she saw Gandalf watching her and quickly hid her amusement. At this point poor Bilbo fled, Gandalf spotted the young hobbit, obviously in some distress, leaving and made after him. Ceridwen decided to leave them to it and settled into watching the rest of the 'company,' as Gandalf had called them.

An assorted bunch of beings had never before met her eyes. Squat and broad, all 11 dwarves had beards. These were varying lengths, colours and styles, which was useful for identifying each from the other. Wide, red-cheeked faces glimmered with merriment but seemed as hard as the stones of the mountains they had mined for eons. They were loud, by the Valar they were loud, but they seemed to genuinely care for each other like some great rowdy family – especially the fair-faced pair on the other side. They simply had to be brothers, even though one was fair and the other dark. Brothers and cousins all, she determined. She wondered if the final member of the company would care for interlopers, such as herself, on this seemingly family outing. As she thought this, a loud, deliberate knocking came from the front door. The room fell deathly silent and Gandalf's voice drifted into the room.

"He's here." Ceridwen felt her stomach drop. She took a deep breath to calm herself and hung back as the others filed for the door. There were cries of greeting, and a deep voice sounded from the hallway.

"Gandalf. I thought you said this place would be easy to find," Ceridwen knew without seeing it was him. That same deep voice that had coaxed her from the tree… oh Valar she had to get out of here. She stood and moved towards the doorway, hoping to leave while attention was fixed on the newcomer.

"I got lost twice, and I would have missed this place had it not been for the mark on the door."

"What mark? There is no mark, I painted that door only last week." Bilbo accused, and Gandalf tried to look innocent. In the centre of the room, the dwarf from the woods stood. Despite the confrontation he seemed no worse for wear. His midnight blue coat was still neatly arranged and that dark hair streaked with silver was no more wild than any of his brethens' – Ceridwen tied not to stare. He seemed, larger – though he was obviously not – and she imagined that his shoulders were held at such an angle as to denote high birth. The other dwarves seemed to bow towards him and she listened to the strong, steady beat of his heart. It was a heart of confidence and pride, yet it was an honest one – he seemed to have nothing to hide.

"This is Bilbo Baggins. Allow me to introduce you to the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield." A name to the face, Ceridwen nodded to herself, storing it away for future reference. She was almost at the front door when it was closed, unwittingly, by Gandalf. She could have howled in frustration. Instead she tried to blend into the wood work as the wizard introduced the hobbit to the dwarf. "So, this is the hobbit. Tell me Mr Baggins, have you done much fightin'?" Thorin asked, his eyes crinkling in amusement as he circled around Bilbo. Ceridwen noticed that he moved a little stiffly.

 _Probably from the kick to his chest._ She reasoned.

"I beg your pardon?" Thorin Oakenshield now smirked broadly.

"Axe, sword, what's your weapon of choice?" He asked and Bilbo straightened.

"Well I do have some skill at conkers." Ceridwen laughed quietly and his little jib. He may be the smallest person in the room, but he had nerve larger than an elephant.  
"I thought as much, he seems more like a grocer than a burglar." The company laughed and Ceridwen's eyes narrowed. His tone was a little too nasty for her liking, after all, the poor thing had just had to cater for 11 starving dwarves with no warning other than an unexpected visit from a nosy old wizard.

"And that grocer just fed your men, so I'd show him some respect." She snapped and the room fell silent. Bilbo spun to face her, as did Gandalf, Thorin and company.

"She speaks?" Someone whispered and Ceridwen raised her head challengingly.

"I speak." She muttered and she cast a fiery glance at Thorin, who's blue eyes had gone wide with shock at the sight of her. The company gaped at her. She came forward and glared at all of them, flicking her gaze from one face to another. Without another word she turned on her heel and marched into the dining room.

"I speak, and I need a bloody drink."

She felt rather than saw them follow. Thorin Oakenshield at their head.

* * *

 **Key:**

 _Thoughts_

 ** _Khuzdul_**

 **Ohhh, so much writing. So, what did you think? Did you like Thorin and Ceridwen's first meeting? Will they actually get along, or will they just clash heads? Why is Bilbo unaffected by Ceridwen's glance? All these questions (and more) could be answered with a simple review *hint hint* or any feedback is also appreciated greatly.**

 **Till next time xx**


	3. Chapter 3 - An Unexpected Adventurer

**Hey all, so I've finally found the time and inspiration to finish this chapter. It's as true to the actual dialogue as possible, whilst still allowing my own characters a chance to naturally flow and interweave with the narrative's course of events.**

 **Disclaimer: anything recognisable is not mine, by J. R. R. Tolkien or Peter Jackson. OFC (Ceridwen) and unfamiliar plot are mine. Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Chapter 3: An Unexpected Adventurer

Thorin fumed silently as he followed the insufferable stranger through the Hobbits' home. As he, and his kin, followed her slim shape down the subterranean hallway, he studied her, trying to piece together why she seemed so familiar. He was sure he'd never seen her before, and yet… he shook his head to clear it.

 _You must have hit your head in that fall._ He berated himself silently. His gaze swept over her once more. Though she was clearly related to the race of Man, nothing about her suggested she would fit comfortably within that brutish race. Not a floorboard creaked as she passed and she was so slender a breath of wind could have lifted her from the earth… or blow through her altogether. His temper grew. Maybe she was a wretched half-cast Elf, sent to make trouble amongst the Dwarfs. He wouldn't put it blast the blighted race. Whatever she was, Thorin knew this creature was as far removed from the likes of his people as the moon was from the sun. And he was not comfortable with such an enigma in their midst. No, not one jot. His warriors' mind immediately began to assess the threat. Long, unbound hair, the colour of ravens' wing, fell in a mess of tangled waves past her narrow hips. There were several stray leaves snared in its thick strands. She had clearly travelled through the woodlands, as opposed to the paths and laneways, and was therefore skilled in the wilder crafts. Her clothes, now that he was finally taking full notice of her, were of a style he had not see before. Mottled dark green and brown, the tunic, pants and cloak appeared no cleaner than his own and her boots were covered in half an inch of road dust. She had obviously travelled far, but why? He could only assume the wizard was behind it all, and what Gandalf intended to happen would always reveal itself in time. He sighed. The thought didn't cheer him at all. Thorin watched as she brought a hand up to safeguard her head as she ducked beneath the arched door into the dining room. The light cast curious shadows across her thin frame and he noticed dark blue swirls extending out from beneath her sleeve. Tattoos? On a woman? Now his intrigue was piqued. In the half second she stood, exposed to the brighter lights of the dining room, he saw that her marks were as livid as blood against her pale skin and even curled along her slim fingers.

 _Who are you?_

He knew of no Men who made such marks, save sailors deep in the South, but those he had seen never covered themselves to the same extent as this woman…

She seemed to feel his gaze. As she turned Thorin pretended to fix his boot lacings. Rising lazily to his feet, Thorin met her fierce glare with confidence, and immediately felt himself being swallowed into those burning, golden pools. It was like swimming in a golden river, uncontrollable and slowly but surely dragging him down… He wrenched himself away violently. Taking a deep breath, he stormed past her and pretended to survey the small room beyond. The nerve of her! She was obviously some sort of enchantress. By the Valar, that was the last thing he needed right now. A strange thought suddenly rippled through his mind, a memory of those same molten eyes. Maybe he was finally losing his mind, but Thorin knew he had seen those eyes before, but where…? His mind felt thick, as though crawling with a fog, but he clung to a sudden memory of black feathers. A shriek of warning came to him, and the realisation was like a bolt of lighting. How on earth…? His thoughts were scattered by the sound of Gandalf's voice.

"My dear…?" The other dwarfs had been chatting amongst themselves as the troupe made their way past him and into to the dining room, but they fell quite as the woman turned a baleful stare upon the wizard. Though he was loath to admit it, even Thorin felt a brief stirring of respect when the icy look clammed the Ishtar's lips shut. With a sniff, the bizarre woman poured herself a generous flagon of ale and took a sip. Her lip curled in distaste.

"They just don't make it like they used to." Her voice was soft and rasping, dry leaves stirring in the wind. Holding her flagon with deliberate care, she seated herself primly at one end of the table, studiously avoiding the gazes of everyone who had filed into the room and seated themselves around her. When they realised she would say no more, his kin picked up their abandoned conversations and the room returned to its usual level of noise. Taking the opportunity for privacy, Thorin grasped Gandalf's arm. Drawing the Istar to the darker doorway, Thorin lowered his voice.

"Who is that?" He demanded, nodding towards the dour young woman at the end of the table. The wizard had the decency to look slightly abashed.

"Ah. Thorin, may I introduce…" The woman laughed softly, turning in her seat to fix them once more with those dangerous eyes. A small smirk was dancing on her lips. With her features animated just so, it was finally clear that she was, at least in Men's standards, quite beautiful. Those high cheekbones and large eyes were entrancing… so it was a shame she was some cursed half-fay with the arrogance of a firedrake. Turning to face them, the she-devil cocked her head assessingly. After a moment she stood, as lithe as a mountain cat. Her movements were as smooth as running water, the left foot coming to rest a half pace behind her as she bent forward from the hips. One hand curled behind the small of her back and the other extended towards him with the palm up-facing. It was a curious bow, the origins of which he could not place.

"My name is Ceridwen Wyldfell, my Lord Dwarf. I assure you, and your kin, that I mean you all no harm." She straightened and when it became clear she would reveal no more about herself, Thorin snorted in disgust.

"Why are you here?" He demanded, folding his arms across his chest. Ceridwen shrugged lazily.

"I was invited." She answered, casting her gaze pointedly to the wizard behind him. After a moment, she returned her gaze to Thorin and it seemed to soften.

"Apparently, you will have need of my… skills." Thorin choked on his next retort. Of all the things he had been expecting, that was certainly not it. A woman on a quest was bad enough, but a headstrong fay woman with entrancing eyes would be five times worse.

 _Since when did a woman's eyes mean so much to you?_ That annoying little voice was back, and Thorin deliberately shut it away in the back of his mind. He also noted her slight pause.

"And skills what would those be lass?" Dwalin asked, his bulky arms coming to rest across her broad chest. Thorin noticed that he, like many of the company, had seated themselves at the table. He took his own seat as his longest friend began to grill the stranger. Like Thorin, Dwalin had quickly seen that Ceridwen carried no sheath for blades, nor quiver for arrows. It was a fair question, but the lass bristled slightly under his gaze. Her eyes flashed in anger but before she could answer, Gandalf spoke.

"Ceridwen is an excellent healer and her knowledge of the wilds is unsurpassed." He replied airily, coming to stand by the woman and place a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked at it briefly, then up at the wizard. Taking a deep breath she turned to face Dwalin once more.

"With a company as large as this someone is bound to take ill, or sustain injury. I was the healer of my village for many years. I know many languages and the locations of safe places amongst the wilder parts of this world." She stepped away from Gandalf and brought her hands to her hips.

"If you worry for my safety, fear not. Amongst other things I have some skill with a bow and staff..." She gazed around at the company, and suddenly a wide smile broke out across her face.

"And though I'm a damn sight nicer to look at than any of you… I'd be more worried for the lass over there." She cocked her head to Kili, whose entire face went crimson as the company turned to face him. There was a pause, then the room exploded into howls of laughter. Thorin gazed around and saw that even Fili was doubled over with mirth, while his younger sibling scrambled to retort. Failing to do so, he instead settled upon performing an excellent impression of a stunned fish.

"Oh sorry, I meant lad of course." Ceridwen murmured with a wink. Kili scowled but his eyes were glittering with good humour. No doubt he was already cooking up some worthy revenge. As his men settled down once more, Thorin realised that his opportunity to dismiss the woman had slipped by. He sighed heavily and his turned his attention to other things, namely filling his growling belly and sharing his news from Ered Luin. His heart turned to lead at the thought. He rose to grab something from the larder but his body had barely left the seat when young Ori stepped into view. He was holding a tray of food and placed it gently before Thorin on the table. The thoughtfulness of the gesture made the King smile.

"Thank you lad." He murmured, watching the young dwarfs chest swell. He turned back to find the company were waiting for him to speak.

"Give him a minute lads, a Dwarfs' got to eat!" Dwalin muttered and the others quickly busied themselves in inane conversation. Too late he realised that in the rush to sit, the insufferable, golden-eyed woman had been left with no other chair than the one beside him. Between bites, and while the rest of the company murmured and laughed, he watched her watch the others.

She had not even a wisp of a beard, poor thing, and up close he realised she was even thinner than he'd thought. Thinner than any Man he'd ever seen. The hair of her head and brows was dark and thick, drawing attention to a strong nose that arched slightly at its tip, giving her the look of a bird of prey. And that pale skin, it seemed almost sickly or translucent in the candle-light. The striking markings around her hairline were striking, enough so to divert one's attention from her waifishness and illuminate those golden eyes. They moved constantly, taking in every detail around her, and storing them away… as his often did.

Thorin now realised that she seemed a second from running out the door. Her shoulders were hunched, although outwardly she appeared cool and collected. What on earth was she afraid of? In his inattention his elbow knocked her flagon of ale, sending it crashing to the ground with a loud clatter. They both bent to retrieve it and his fingers brushed the back of her hand and the world lurched violently.

 _The stench of charred flesh and blood clogged his nostrils as the unmistakable roar and crackle of flames filled his ears. Darkness pressed in upon him on all sides, as though he were trapped in the very depths of the earth, and his body felt as if it were riddled with endless, uncontrollable agony. He couldn't contain it any longer, a high, piercing scream burst from his lips, echoing off the walls, the floors…_

 _ **The air was rippling with heat, and as the dragons' roars thundered from overhead the very mountains seemed to shake with their fury. The firedrake's metallic breath poisoned the very air he breathed and each sweep n of its enormous wings sent torrents of air to force him and his kin to the ground. Wave after wave of fear, pain and sorrow rose within him as he watched the monstrous thing finally break down the great stone doors…**_

 _No!_

 _ **No!**_

With mounting desperation, Thorin wrenched himself back into reality. The visions faded, but their memory was a raw brand on his brain. Shaken he found himself staring at Ceridwen. Her pale skin had gone an even ghastlier shade of corpse-green and her knuckles were bloodless beneath the tight flesh of her hands. She seemed on the verge of fleeing and Thorin would be lying if he didn't recognise a part of him that wanted to run with her. Finally, she looked away, refusing to meet his gaze. He looked around, but no one else seemed to have seen or heard anything untoward. Then his glance fell on the wizard, who was looking too intently into his pipe. He pushed his now utterly unappetising meal away and took a deep scull of ale.

"News from the meeting in Ered Luin?" A familiar voice cut through the rabble and Thorin looked to his other side, nodding to white haired Balin. The elderly dwarfs' blue eyes were full of hope.

'Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms." The room cheered, and Thorin felt his heart sink slightly. He wished he could maintain that hope, tell these loyal dwarfs that their kin had not abandoned them and that they would reclaim their homeland with such aid.

"And what do the dwarfs of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?" Thorin looked to his oldest friend, Dwalin, and sighed.

"They will not come. They say this quest is ours, and ours alone." General dismay rippled through the assembled dwarfs, and Thorin couldn't keep the disappointment from his own features. He couldn't help sending a brief glance towards Ceridwen and was surprised to see that her face was creased, not only with confusion, but anger and sadness. She cocked her head slightly.

"Your own kin will not come to aid you?" She asked incredulously and you could have heard a pin drop in the quiet that fell over the small room. 13 pairs of eyes swivelled to her once more and the woman tossed her head defensively.

"It just seems strange to me, that they would not." She replied tightly.

"They have their reasons, I cannot ask them to risk their people…" Thorin heard the words pour from his mouth before he could stop himself and Ceridwen's dark eyebrows drew together in a frown.

"But you would go to their aid, would you not?" She asked, looking around at the others.

"Aye!" A pair of familiar voices called out in unison, and Thorin wanted to smack his two nephews over the head. However, their shouts had roused the others, all of whom now nodded and murmured their agreement. Thorin hid a small smile. They would go to their kins' aid, just as they had come when he called them, but he could not ask them to risk everything for a quest that was doomed to fail.

"You're going on a quest?" A soft voice asked from the back of the room. Everyone turned to see Bilbo by the door, his brown eyes creased with concern.

"Bilbo, let us have a little more light." Gandalf asked gently, and the small being quickly went around to light more candles. The wizard pulled a folded piece of parchment from his grey robes, unfolded it and placed it squarely on the table before him.

"Far to the East, over ranges and ridges, through woods and wastelands, lies a single, solitary peak." Thorin peered down at what he now realised was a map, and recognised the Mountain of Erebor.

"The Lonely Mountain." Bilbo read quietly.

"Aye, Oin has read the portents and the portents say it is time." red haired Gloin said with complete certainty.

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as was foretold. When the barrows of Erebor return to the mountain, the reign of the beast will end."

"What beast?" Bilbo asked, and Thorin could have laughed, if the situation was so dire.

"That would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, the chiefest and greatest calamity of our Age." Cocky-eyed Bofur smirked from between his pipe.

"Air-borne fire breather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks…" He paused.

"Extremely fond of precious metals."

"Yes, I know what a dragon is." Bilbo quipped as young Ori jumped from his seat.

"I'm not afraid, I'll give him a taste of dwarfish iron right up his jaxy." Thorin felt, rather than saw, Ceridwen laugh. The woman had a sense of humour after all.

"The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us, but we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best." Balin murmured in dismay, to the universal grumbles of the company.

"We may be small in number, but we're fighters, to the last dwarf."

"And you forget we have a wizard in our company." Fili and Kili now brought attention to the grey bearded Ishtar, who now looked like he wished to be anywhere but where he was.

"Gandalf must have killed hundreds of dragons in his time." Thorin felt his hopes wither as the wizard scrambled and stuttered a denial of any such thing. He should have known it was all to end in failure. The room erupted into arguing. After a moment Ceridwen look askance at Thorin and tilted her head tauntingly. Realising he'd let his kin argue long enough, he rose to his feet.

"Enough!"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The silence that followed Thorin's outburst was total, but thick with expectation. Ceridwen glanced around at the now silent crowd of dwarves and felt the stirrings of… something rise in her chest. He obviously had the respect of his men, and that was nearly always a good sign. She could feel waves of strong emotion rolling under that utterly calm surface though, and it was the kind that worried her.

 _Still waters run deep._

Thorin Oakenshield. She wondered how and when he had gotten such a name. Shaking herself back into the present, she forced herself to pay attention. The fact that she couldn't tell what his emotions were intrigued and infuriated her. His low voice rumbled in the stillness.

"If we have read these signs do you not think that others have as read them too?"

All eyes latched onto him. His own blue orbs were bright, like sunshine glimmering through a summer rain, and the whole table seemed to hang on his every word.

"Rumours have begun to spread, the dragon Smaug has not been seen in sixty years, eyes look east to Mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people lies unprotected?" The white haired dwarf, Balin, she though she'd heard, sighed and shook his head slightly but Thorin barrelled on.

"Do we sit back and let other claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?"

His kin cheered, some even toasting gaily to the charge.

"You forget. The front gate is sealed. There is no way into the Mountain." Balin reminded them gently.

"That, my dear Balin, is not necessarily true."

From the folds of his robes, Gandalf revealed an ancient brass key with an odd, diamond shaped handle. It was ancient, whispering to Ceridwen of the eons it had witnessed.

"How came you by this?" Thorin demanded quietly, his face blank with shock. Gandalf turned to him.

"It was given to me by your father, Thrain, for safe keeping. It is yours now." Thorin accepted the oddly shaped key, and gazed over it in wonder.

"If there's a key, there must be a door." The young blond dwarf, similar in face to the dark haired one she had teased earlier, stated and everyone nodded.

"These runes speak of secret door to the lower chambers." Gandalf pointed to the map with the tip of his pipe. Ceridwen glanced down and, not for the first time, wished she had been taught to read. It galled her that secrets of the world lay so close, and yet so far from her. Those black lines and dots represented a realm of magic beyond anything she possessed, a power to know and understand beyond her small, unimaginative sphere of the world. She glanced away quickly. The dark haired one grinned.

"There's another door!"

"But we must find it, or we cannot get in, the secret lies somewhere in this map." Gandalf said, pointing to the offending article.

"But I do not have the skill to find it." The company groaned. Ceridwen peered across the heavy oak table, and started. She caught a glimpse of _faux-fire_ glimmering from the page, something she had missed the first time she'd glanced at it. Taking a closer look, the faux-fire became a series of scrawls and dots… they were words! Someone had obviously tried to hide something, but it was her gift and curse to see what others wished to hide.

"But there are others in Middle Earth who can." At this point, Ceridwen felt the weight of Gandalfs stare upon her and looked up from her perusal of the map. He was smirking, damn him, and it took her a moment to realise what he wanted.

"Oh no…" She began, bringing her hands up defensively. She looked around at the table of expectant faces.

"Please I…"

"Can you really read it?" Kili asked, his young face gleaming with hope. The shrivelled, useless organ that had once been Ceridwen's heart clenched tightly in her chest. Looking at his wide, innocent eyes, she knew she couldn't refuse and felt a surge of anger at the world, and herself. Why couldn't she just walk away from these things? Why did she have to care, to feel? Why couldn't she be like the rest of her kind? Admitting defeat, she met Kili's gaze and pursed her lips.

"I may." She answered finally and the table began to chatter with excitement. Faces that had seemed devoid of all cheer suddenly sprang to life and again, her chest seemed to tingle.

"Well go on." Young Ori asked excitedly, earning him a sharp rap on the head from Nori.

"Please." This time it was Thorin who spoke. She gazed at this proud Dwarf Lord and her heart shrivelled once more.

"There is a message here." She pointed to what must have appeared to them as empty space on the parchment. Those closest scrambled for a better look.

"It shines, like moonlight… but I cannot read it." She said defiantly and the whole table groaned.

"Why?" Thorin demanded, his tone brusque and Cerdiwen tossed her head. Who did this upstart of a Dwarf think he was? She levelled her gaze at him and sniffed tersely.

"It is in Dwarfish, but not something that I recognise." The words spilled from her before she could stop them.

 _So they're obviously some form of Dwarfish._ She thought curiously. Since she, and others like her, couldn't lie, the words must be in Dwarfish - convenient then, if they could find someone else who could see and read them. Another round of groans.

"Could you spell them?" Balin, the white-bearded Dwarf asked, and Ceridwen casted a small, desperate glance at Gandalf. He nodded.

"Later perhaps, there is another matter we must deal with first." The company looked to Gandalf and Ceridwen nearly collapsed with relief. If she'd had any blood, it would have all been in her cheeks, so pure was her embarrassment.

"Ahem. The task I have in mind requires stealth and no small amount of courage. But if we are careful, and clever, I believe it can be done."

That's why we need a burglar!" A young looking Dwarf piped up from the other end of the table. Gandalf nodded.

"And a good one to. An expert." To Ceridwen's complete surprise it was the hobbit, Bilbo, who spoke this time, his chest puffing as he proudly thumbed the braces he wore.

"And are you?" Balin asked, all eyes flicking to the hapless hobbit, who paled under their expectant scrutiny.

"Am I what?"

Confusion reigned as the Dwarfs became steadily more convinced of Bilbo's expertise in burglary and the hobbit became increasingly distressed at this apparent impingement of his character. Balin and the dwarf with tattoos to rival her own spoke up to further denounce the poor things suitability for the quest – much to Bilbo's relief – and the whole table fell into argument, voices steadily rising as chaos took hold once more.

"ENOUGH!" The room darkened, a clever trick that Ceridwen herself was quite fond of, and Gandalf stood.

"IF I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, than a burglar he is." He said defiantly and the room cowered.

"Hobbits are particularly light on their feet, and can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, it is not familiar with that of a Hobbit." The grey-beaded wizard went on determinedly, not pausing to let a word in, from anyone, edgewise. He turned to Thorin.

"You asked me to find the final members for this company, and I have chosen Mr Baggins and Ceridwen. There is more to them then appearances suggest." At her name Ceridwen looked up once more and in the process of looking towards Gandalf, caught Thorin's eye.

"You must trust me on this." Thorin's gaze flicked to Gandalf briefly, and he went totally still as his mind no doubt worked through the best and worst case scenarios bound up in the calamity sweeping them up into its grasp. A Hobbit on a quest to slay a dragon with 13 dwarfs, a wizard, and a monster… it was like something out of a story!

 _We must all be completely insane._

"Very well." Thorin's voice was so quiet, Ceridwen almost didn't catch it. She glanced askance at the Dwarf Lord and felt a weight she hadn't known she even carried, lift from her shoulders.

 _Why do you care so much? Caring is beyond dangerous!_ The voice was right. Completely right. Yet, a small part of her was utterly thrilled that Thorin had decided to trust them enough to include them on this adventure. It had been a long time since anyone had trusted her like that.

"Give them the contract." Ceridwen raised an eyebrow.

"Contract?" She murmured and Balin nodded.

"Oh yes, just the standard procedure. Out of pocket expenses, remuneration, funeral arrangements…" He stood and passed a rectangle across the table to Thorin who, gently, handed her a rectangle of parchment and tossed the other behind him at Bilbo. She stared down at it blankly as Bilbo moved away to read his.

"By the Valar…" She breathed as page upon page unravelled from Bilbos hands.

"Funeral arrangements…" He murmured weakly, and Ceridwen wanted to comfort him, but stopped as Thorin leaned in to Gandalf and whispered.

"I cannot guarantee his safety."

"Understood."

"Nor will I be responsible for his fate."

"Agreed." The two shared dark but honest looks, before leaning back and turning to face Bilbo.

"Did you sign one like this?" Cerdiwen asked Thorin, who seemed surprised. He covered it with his usual cool arrogance, but she felt her inner self roll its eyes. Men, Dwarfs, they were all the same in that regard.

"Aye, it would be dishonourable if I were not to accept the same terms as those I swear to my company." She nodded and unravelled the parchment, pretending to scan the pages of scrawling words. She reached the end.

"Where do I sign?" She asked softly, almost to herself, then nearly smacked herself on the forehead. Her face burned with the intensity of Thorin's stare, and when she looked up, his eyebrow was raised in what could only be a question. He glanced at the parchment between them. For a moment Ceridwen worried he may say something about it, then, deftly and quietly, a hand reached out. His forefinger idly landed on the parchment, almost accidentally, and she followed it, noticing a small space where there was no writing. She used a nail to nip the tip of her forefinger gently. A shining jewel of midnight blue appeared. Ignoring the gasps around her she pressed it against her thumb, coating it in the stuff. She pressed her thumb to the space, leaving a distinct print in its wake. Nodding she curled it back up and handed it to Balin, who pocketed it without a word. He smiled benignly, and his calm eyes gave nothing away. Others were clearly not so sure. Perhaps it was the blood. Thorin however, when she looked back at him, was clouded with questions and suspicion. The hard glare was back and she sighed. Looking away, Ceridwen caught the tail end of Biblo's interrogation by a Dwarf in a funny hat.

"Incineration…?" He murmured weakly.

"Think furnace with wings." The Dwarf said helpfully, and Ceridwen was reminded of a sibling goading their sibling into something dangerous. Bilbo had gone green, and was clearly struggling with his dinner. Ceridwen stood, alarmed at the sudden increase in his heart rate.

"Blinding light. Searing pain, then poof! Gone." Ceridwen took one step but it was too late. Bilbo's heart rate fluttered and he toppled sideways.

"Brilliant." She muttered, moving swiftly to him and turning him over gently. He began to stir almost immediately, as expected, and she tapped his cheeks.

"Billbo, can you hear me?" She asked, taking his hand and squeezing. He groaned and finger fluttered against her own.

"He'll live." She called over her shoulder, to anyone who cared, and the dinner lapsed into cheerful laughter. Gandalf came to help her. Together they moved Bilbo to his chair in the study, whilst the Dwarfs began to move about the small house. Night was well and truly settled in, and a few of them were yawning. She left Gandalf to talk with the Hobbit, clearly there was a conversation that needed to be held between them, and moved instead to the living room, where a fire crackled softly in its grate. Her sensitive ears picked up two dwarfish heartbeats in the corridor and she recognised Balin's voice.

"Probably for the best, we're probably doomed to fail." A deep sigh.

"What are we, merchants, miners, tinkers, toymakers… hardly the stuff of legends."

Thorin spoke now.

"There are a few warriors amongst us."

"Old warrioris." They both seemed to chuckle, but when Thorin spoke, it was clear he was serious.

"I would take every one of these dwarfs, over an army from the Iron Hills, for when I called upon them they answered. Loyalty, honour, a valiant heart… I can ask no more than that."

"You don't have to do this!" Balin's voice became insistant, and Ceridwen moved closer, despite herself, unable to miss the pain emanating from the elderly dwarf. His voice was thick with pain and memory, yet somehow hopeful. Of what though, she couldn't be sure.

"You've done honourably by our people, you have built a new life for us in the Blue Mountains. A life of peace and plenty, a life that's worth more than all the gold in Erebor."

Ceridwen moved away, struck by the bright, painful emotions streaming from the corridor. Pride, pain, hope, loss, mingled in the air and she was both attracted and disgusted by it. To feel so much was to be mortal, to be everything she wasn't. The contrast with her stone cold world was stark and not a little biting, but oh how she longed to feel even an inkling of it again. She stood by the fire and watched the flames dance and crackle over the logs, red-hot and crumbling with the heat. She couldn't feel it, of course, but she liked to imagine she could. Behind her, the two Dwarfs moved into the room, stopping when they saw her by the fireplace.

"Begging your pardon Miss." Balin murmured politely, and she turned to them, her hands twisted slightly. She ducked her head.

"Not at all Milords" She motioned for them to enter, her Sense flaring. They moved to sit or stand as they wished, with Thorin coming to the fire. He stared into the depths, as she had done earlier. A pulse throbbed strongly just under his skin and the urge began building in unrest. It was hardly as strong as it had been those nights ago in the northern town, but she was always hungry. This proximity was testing her limits. She took a deep, if unnecessary breath, and began to sing under a tune from her youth.

 _ **Folk often spoke, of the Maiden of Coke**_

 _ **Of the Lillie of Valley and Glen**_

 _ **And people would say, she waited many a day**_

 _ **By the banks of the Rheim for Byde**_

 _ **Oh how hell roared, time flew, and so soared**_

 _ **The arrow that struck true to his breast**_

 _ **And softly she sank, from that riverbank**_

 _ **Beneath waters cool, dark and deep.**_

"A sad melody." Thorin's voice broke across her tune, and she broke off, looking at him curiously.

"Yes. She comes back you know." He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?" She nodded, turning her gaze back to the flames.

"Her soul was so unhappy, it sought to heal such terrible misery by returning to this world, to the rivers and bridges, seeking out those other lonely hearts that may travel there."

"And what then?" She sighed, not meeting his gaze.

"She drowns them."

Silence reigned. Ceridwen felt a strange emotion creeping into her chest, as though it were suddenly too small for her lungs and heart.

"My mother used to sing that, when we couldn't sleep. It never worked, so I don't know why she persisted with it, but it's nice to have memories and songs to take me back to happier times. Even if they are of tragedy and death."

He chuckled and she couldn't help the small smile that spread across her own lips.

"We too have songs too, of Erebor." Thorin murmured and she looked at him. That dreaded mountain. They'd fail. She was sure of it. Even with the 15 of them, they were no match for a dragon. Yet, they would no doubt be venturing there on the morrow. Her senses were screaming at her to run, to flee and never think of this doomed quest again. Thorin was staring at her and she realised she'd been doing the same. She sniffed, pretending to pick lift from her tunic.

"Do you sing?" She asked blandly, and his lips quirked in what she would have to classify as a reluctant smile. He nodded, but his features gave nothing more away.

"Will you?" She didn't know why she cared, but now it was out there she couldn't take it back. He seemed as surprised by her request as she, but after a moment he began to sing.

 _ **Far over the Misty Mountains cold  
To dungeons deep and caverns old  
We must away, ere break of day  
To find our long forgotten gold**_

She started as the whole company joined their leader, their strong voices moving the words into a great, mournful dirge.

 _ **The pines were roaring on the heights  
The wind were moaning in the night  
The fire was red, it flaming spread  
The trees like torches blazed with light**_

Ceridwen glanced at Gandalf, who was watching them all by the doorway. He smiled slightly and was wanted to curse him soundly. Why did he always seem to know her better than she knew herself? He'd known that she wouldn't be able to resist, not only an opportunity to end her curse but to restore outcasts to their homes. She sighed and moved to the window, gazing out into the starlit garden, and waiting for dawn to arrive.

* * *

 **So, what do you think? Please remember to leave a review if you liked, disliked or have a query. I live for feedback.**

 **Credits to:**

 **Howard Shore/ J RR Tolkien - Misty Mountains Cold**

 **Me - The Lillie of Valley and Glen.**


	4. Chapter 4 - The East Road: Part One

_**Long wait, no excuses other than I've been on exchange and haven't had much time to do anything but focus on that for the past year. All recognisable characters are the property of J RR Tolkien – I claim nothing but Ceridwyn.**_

 **The East Road: Day 1**

It was still dark when Thorin awoke. The cold glint of moonlit steel in his hand caught his eye and he looked down at the blade clutched tightly in his fist. As his breathing slowed he looked around the dim room, worried that his sudden movements may have awoken the others. Their loud snores quickly allayed his fears. Returning the blade to its sheath, Thorin took a deep breath and rubbed at the grit in his eyes, as though it might also rub away the nightmares. Although this particular one had already melted away into the recesses of his mind, he could easily guess what it had contained… all his dreams seemed charred with flame and ruin. He shook his head to clear it of even darker thoughts and took several more deep and deliberate breaths. When he was sure he was calm once more, he looked to the window. A crescent moon hung low in the sky and the stars were already fading from view. There were some hours left before dawn, but Thorin knew that attempting to return to sleep would prove fruitless. It would be best to simply begin his preparations for the long day ahead.

Slipping from his bedroll, he stood and stretched his cramped muscles quietly, counting the sleeping figures around him as he did so. Alarm coursed through him when he came up short. After another, more careful count, it appeared that neither the wizard nor his golden-eyed associate were present. Pulling on his shirt and shoes, Thorin scowled into the darkness.

 _Where in Durins' name could they be at this hour?_ He tugged his leather jerkin over his shoulders as he walked on tiptoe to the hallway, carefully skirting the errant mass of stray limbs and beards that lay in his path.

 _Did wizards even need to sleep?_ Thorin pondered as he moved along the darkened house. It was certainly a thought that had never crossed his mind before. Shaking his head silently, he approached the front of the burrow. A faint sound caught his ears and he cocked his head, straining to catch it. Yes, there were definitely voices up ahead. He walked along the well-polished floorboards, stopping when a familiar whiff of pipe smoke reached his nose. He released the breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding. Gandalf, at least, was still around. Realising he was standing in the dark like a snitch, Thorin raised his hand to knock on the door and alert the wizard to his presence, when a soft, rasping voice spoke.

"You knew!" It was the woman, Ceridwyn.

"For all your talk of choice, you _knew_ I would be bound to say yes, _Mithrandir._ " Thorin suddenly decided that he was glad the door was between them. She sounded furious.

"I… had a suspicion." Gandalf seemed calm, almost flippant.

"You just needed a push, otherwise you were never going to leave that place."

"And that is of no concern of yours." Ceridwyn spat. Curious, Thorin peered through the thick window-pane beside the door. The darkness meant gave him an advantage, he could see out but the people outside could not see in. As he eyes continued to adjust to the moonlight, Thorin made out a dark figure by the garden gate and thin tendrils of smoke rising from just below the sill. The ghostly light cast curious patterns across the yard but Thorin could make out one of Ceridwyn's pale hands was raised, a finger seemingly pointed directly at his face. He backed away slightly, remembering how often Dís had lost her temper at him, even when he hadn't been the target of her rage. Making sure he stayed in the shadows, Thorin turned away from the window to head back into the depths of the house and try to prepare for the journey. He moved as quietly as he could and attempted to locate his coat and weapons by the door, which he'd hung there many hours before. Unfortunately, Ceridwyn's voice carried through the wood.

"You had no right, Gandalf. No _right_ to do this." Thorin winced, wishing he could be anywhere but there.

"My dear, I never forced you to do anything. I merely suggested a certain path and you chose to take it. " Gandalf replied calmly. Thorin winced again.

"Said like a man who has no sister." He muttered under his breath, fumbling desperately in the dark for his things.

"Besides, you couldn't stay in that old tree forever."

 _Who in Durin's name would want to live in a tree?_ Thorin felt his brow furrow in surprise. The woman was either insane or half elf – although the latter was definitely worse. His lip curled as his thoughts strayed briefly to the pointy-eared bastards.

"Oh but I could. Forever isn't that long." Ceridwyns' voice faltered, the anger draining away to something Thorin couldn't entirely identify. Sadness? Bitterness? Realising he was eavesdropping again he grabbed his blue cloak off the hook and made to turn away.

"Ceridwyn…" Gandalf's voice was gentle, no hint of flippancy now.

"You must admit that this is better. There was nothing for you there." Silence reigned; then a deep sigh met his ears.

"It was more than I deserved Gandalf. Those woods, that life, it was better, much better than anywhere else I could have been. No, _Mithrandir_ , I know you don't agree but you know –" Thorin shifted on his heel and a single floorboard creaked loudly beneath him. He sighed. The garden fell deathly silent. Thorin squared his shoulders and grasped the door handle, clearing his throat before opened the door and looking from Ceridwyn to Gandalf and back. Smoke, drifting from Gandalfs' pipe, was the only thing that moved in that tiny front garden. Even the drafty winds had seemed to stop. Ceridwyns' eyes glimmered in the dark, like those of the great cats that were said to prowled the northern slopes, but the rest of her features were concealed in shadow. He tried to ignore the icy gaze as it swept up and down his body, by pulling his coat on over his shoulders.

"Gandalf. M'lady." He murmured in greeting.

"An early morning for you both I see?" He observed politely. Gandalf waved at him nonchalantly, but Ceridwen merely scowled.

"Is it a Dwarfish habit to skulk around doors, My Lord?" Ceridwyn folded her arms over her thin chest, lifting her chin defiantly. Thorin struggled to swallow his own anger. It was not as if he had wished to be here, to awaken from visions of death at some ungodly hour of the morning and overhear the bickerings of an old man and a witch.

"I awoke... and saw that you were both missing. I came to investigate."

She snorted. He could see she was trying to goad him, but he maintained his calm façade.

"Spy, you mean?" She accused. Thorin leaned against the door frame and meeting her angry gaze.

"What use would I have of your secrets?" He asked calmly. She bristled and suddenly he caught a glimpse of something behind her eyes. She was embarrassed, obviously, and he couldn't fault her on that front. He would have been just as sheepish if someone had eavesdropped on his private conversations. But there was another emotion there. One he was entirely startled by.

Fear. She was frightened, but by him or something else he couldn't tell.

He wanted to put her mind at ease. If they were to travel together, and trust each other as a Company, he had to know who, or what, he had invited to join him.

"Yes, I overheard something of your conversation, M'lady. I came to fetch my things and overheard you, that cannot be helped. I apologise if it has caused you distress, however I do have a question." Ceridwyn's eyes flickered to Gandalf and he shrugged. Looking back at Thorin she squared her shoulders.

"You can ask Dwarf, but I may choose not to answer." Her flippancy was grating, but Thorin kept his simmering temper under control.

"Where did you come from? How am I to trust you with my life, and the lives of my kin, if I know nothing of who or what you are?" Ceridwyn's eyes widened momentarily in surprise. She appeared ready to retort, but held her tongue at the last moment.

"That is a fair enough question I suppose. I was born in a village far to the north of here. You would never have heard of it though, for it has long disappeared from the memories of Man or Dwarf." She paused and then shrugged.

"I dwelt in the forests of the North Downs, although I cannot re-call for how long." He hummed thoughtfully.

"You wish to know something else, My Lord?"

"Are you a witch?" He demanded, probably a little more forcefully than intended, and she laughed.

"Oh-ho, I much worse than that I'm afraid." Thorin scowled openly now, tiring rapidly of her little games and sarcasm.

"Oh-ho, another non-answer from the witch." He retorted, watching the laughter died from her lips.

"I have no use of such dishonesty on this quest or within my Company." He said in disgust, turning on his heel to leave.

"I suspect the irony must not have hit you My Lord, for I see something deliciously so in a Dwarf-Lord who thinks skulking by a dark door is honest." He whirled at her in shock. She smirked openly now.

"Don't play me for a fool sir. Stained as my soul is, your own character leaves much to be desired."

"By what right does the pot feel it can call a kettle so black?" Furious now, he ignored the pleading expression on Gandalf's face. Arms akimbo he glared at the witch with open contempt.

"Clearly you are far from innocent or you wouldn't have been hiding in some witch-wood in the North, far from decent folk." Ceridwyn went very still. If he had struck her, he doubted she would be so affected. When she spoke, the words chilled him to his very soul.

"And I pray Dwarf, that you may never know just how far." She looked past him at Gandalf and there was a quiet rage behind her gold eyes.

"To think that I should swear to join this company and to be holden to those that cannot trust me." She sighed deeply. Thorin opened his mouth to speak but she held up a hand to quell his words.

"Oh, I will do my part to help reclaim your homeland, I gave my word and it binds me…" Here she looked met his gaze directly.

"No doubt I will watch as it gets you and your kin killed." Turning on her heel she stalked to the garden gate. Seething, Thorin bit down on his tongue to stop himself saying something worse.

"One way or another, once this quest is done, you need never worry of my crossing your path again." She jumped over the fence and onto the road. Her feet made no noise even as they found purchase on the rough ground. He refused to be impressed.

"Are you satisfied with your meddling now?" She asked pointedly at the grey cloaked man beneath the window. Gandalf stood in a rush.

"Ceridwen, wait!" He moved to catch her arm. She scowled at his hand but he did not release her.

"We leave at dawn."

"I will meet you, fear not." Wrenching her arm from his grasp she unhooked her corded bag and cloak. Her arms were pale beneath the moonlight, however the vivid bands and swirls encircling them seemed almost black by comparison. Gandalf accepted the offered objects without a word and the two men watched her depart, a slim figure disappearing rapidly into the gloom. Then he turned to Thorin, with a scowl on his face.

"And I thought Tooks had no tact." He muttered angrily, stalking past and slamming the door closed. Loud groans echoed from the sitting room. Thorin sighed. The noise had woken his kin. He sat down on the recently vacated garden chair, peering out over the starlit fields and valleys before him. Yes, he'd spoke in haste, and anger, but truly that witch had gotten under his skin, what exactly was he supposed to have done? More to the point, what had he gotten himself into? Rubbing his face, he looked to the heavens. They merely glittered back, their cold and distant light taunting him. The door opened behind him and he recognised the familiar, heavy-footed steps of Dwalin.

"Bit early for risin', ain't it?" He asked, echoing to an eerie degree what Thorin himself had said earlier. The Dwarf-Lord shrugged.

"No time like the present." He murmured, turning a small smile to his old friend. The fearsome Dwarf did not look as though he had just been awoken by an angry wizard, but Thorin could tell they were both exhausted and agitated. There were scatterings of grey in both their beards now, which Thorin had not seen before, and he couldn't help wondering where the years had gone. Finally, after a moment, he brought himself back to the present.

"Prepare the Company. There is not much time until dawn and we'd best make good use of our time while we can." He sensed, rather than saw, Dwalin's nod. Without another word he disappeared back inside the Hobbit-hole, leaving Thorin alone with his gods-forsaken thoughts.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Sunlight was creeping over the horizon as the Company made their way out of the rolling hills and laneways of Hobbiton. Thorin couldn't help but notice a little pang in his chest as they did so. It was such a quaint little place after all, but the weight of the key in his pocket sent a strange thrill through him. This was their first real chance to return to Erebor. Their real home. It was what they had all been waiting for, for so long. He could practically see the great, cavernous halls of his home now.

They had all cleaned Mr Baggins' home before they left (Dwarfs weren't savages after all) and Thorin was relieved to see that, despite this, they still made good time along the Eastern Road. Very few people were around at that time of the morning, however the Company was watched with blatant curiosity by a few farmers who were working in their fields as dawn broke. The air was fresh, crisp and filled with the unmistakable smell of earth, and looking around Thorin wasn't the only one taking an opportunity to breathe it in deeply. It had been some time since they'd been able to enjoy the tranquillity of the morning.

They were missing Master Baggins, much to the Wizards' disappointment, but there was an air of optimism throughout the group. Riding on the high of the returned key, Thorin couldn't find it in him to be disappointed in the hobbit.

 _He can and should stay in his comfortable burrow, away from the horrors of the world._ Durin knew they all wished they could. No-one could begrudge him what they all wished they had.

A scowl floated across his features as he thought of other missing members of the Company. Kili and Fili were giving him a wide berth, since he'd damn near snapped their heads off for asking about _her_ earlier that morning. Thorin had been frustrated in his attempts to discover more about Ceridwyn. Although the Ishtar was rarely forthcoming with straightforward information, he had been particularly vague when it came to the golden-eyed woman. He'd taken to ignoring Thorin outright by the time the Company was ready to leave and he'd simply left along with them, clearly comfortable with the idea that she could and would meet with them at some later point.

 _Best not to think of it._ Thorin thought bitterly as he clutched his reins a little tighter and swept his gaze across the foliage on either side of the dew-laden trail. A murmured comment from Fili reminded him of his unwarranted temper that morning.

 _I'm going to have to apologise for that._ Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he cast a sideways glance at his nephews.It was either that or face the wrath of Dís… and there wasn't a Dwarf in all of Middle Earth who could withstand one of his sisters' formidable rages. A shout broke his concentration.

"That is an _enormous_ bird." Thorin looked back at Ori, who was peering up at a nearby oak tree. Sure enough, as he and the Company paused looked towards it, a large, jet-black raven perched in one of the lofty boughs above them. Even for a black bird, this one was huge and it's fiery gaze seemed incredibly intense. It was clearly watching them, head arched high and proud.

As Thorin met its cold eyes he started. The faintest trace of memory flashed across his mind, before a streak of white-hot agony took its place. For a moment the world blurred and the intensity of it made Thorin gasp. After a few steadying breaths, he waved away Balins' concerned look away. His head was still buzzing, as though filled with angry insects, but the pain was gone at least. Something was there, at the back of his mind, but whenever he sought to determine what, the pain nearly blinded him. Frustrated but unwilling to fall from his horse in front of his men, Thorin gave up. He glanced up at the bird, scowling and rubbing his temples. It cawed, jet-black feathers rippling in the early morning sunlight.

"Come." He ordered curtly, kicking his horse back into a steady walk. The Company resumed its pace, and Thorin couldn't help an amused snort as the men began to place bets on the hobbit.

"10 marks says he comes." That was Balin, to Dwalin no doubt.

"5 says he doesn't." Fili to Kili.

"20 marks that he comes." Thorin glanced back at the wizard, who was sitting primly on his chestnut gelding, his grey cloak wrapped around him and a single eyebrow quirked.

"Care to make a bet?" He asked, and Thorin smirked.

"On whom?" Gandalf snorted.

"Either, if you so choose." The words were casually said, but Thorin shook his head. He wasn't a gambler.

"They will come, or they will not. Either way, I'll not betting on another persons' life." Gandalf's eyes seemed to soften, ever so slightly. Thorin turned back towards the trail. Another caw sounded. He watched as a dark shadow moved overhead, disappearing into the trees.

"Wait!" A shout sounded through the trees a moment later. Thorin raised a hand, pulling the Company to a halt as a familiar figure burst from the trees. Bilbo's brown head bobbed towards them, and Thorin could see a long stream of paper trailing him. Was that the contract?

"Wait. I've signed it." The hobbit panted, coming to a halt by Balins' pony and holding the paper towards him. With an appraising look, the white-haired dwarf took the contract and examined it through his spectacle. After a moment he nodded.

"It's all in order. Welcome, Master Baggins, to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield." Thorin hid his bemusement.

"Fetch him a mount." He ordered, ignoring – as his men did – the hobbits' weak protests. They moved on again, periodic clinks and groans reaching him as the men traded their bets. Gandalf spoke bracingly to the small being, catching his own bag of winnings triumphantly as he did so. Thorin sighed and kept his eyes on the road, scanning it constantly. As the landscape changed form rolling hills to darker forests, he grew increasingly more wary. After his many eventful meetings of late, he was perturbed to find himself on edge even amongst friends.

 _And that's clearly the sign of a healthy mind._ He sighed and shook himself. No good dwelling on such things now. He was impatient to get on with the task at hand. There had been years of delay, and they couldn't afford to wait now.

OoOoOoOoOoO

They took a late lunch, having bypassed the Burrow Downs and made their way steadily towards Bree. If luck stayed with them, they would make it to the town before nightfall and perhaps have one last comfortable rest, in a bed, before taking to the wilder parts of the East Road. There wouldn't be many more opportunities for such luxury on the road to Erebor and Thorin couldn't deny his men such things. However, although the mood was jovial, Thorin was on edge. The whole time they had been travelling the Company had been tailed by the damned black bird. It was very clear it was tailing them, but for what purpose Thorin couldn't say. He was only mildly comforted by the fact that Gandalf paid it no mind. Thorin presumed it wasn't dangerous, or in the thrall of someone who was, but wizards had very different ideas about what was dangerous or not... and his misgivings only deepened as Kili and Fili took to calling it _Askad_. It wasn't natural for a bird to be following them. Some in the Company grumbled about bad omens and potents, but Thorin was also aware that, at least for the Dwarfs of Erebor, black birds were a blessing. So, whatever his misgivings, he let the bird continue as it willed.

And right now it patiently waited in a nearby tree, preening its glossy feathers and watching them all with its blazing yellow eyes.

"Here _Askad_ , come on girl." That was Kili. Thorin sighed as his nephew held his open palm towards the bird, with a few scraps of dried meat laid on top. The bird cawed, tossing its head and shuffling away, almost as if it disdained the offering.

"Now we definitely know she's a female." Fili teased and the Company laughed. Kili blushed, scowling at them.

"Well, she has standards, which is more than I can say about you!" Kili retorted. He looked back up at the bird.

"She's beautiful and just like the ones Uncle spoke of in his tales about Erebor."

The creature in question flittered to another branch, ducking her head cockily at them all. Almost as though she understood. Thorin wouldn't be surprsed if she did. At this point he was starting to think she was Gandalf's creature, and such beings had to have some supernatural intelligence to them. He realised that Kili was looking at him and quickly thought back to what had been said. Right, Erebor. He'd had a similar thought himself. Maybe she was one of the birds from Erebor...

"No, she's not of the Ravens." Balin murmured, as though he'd read his King's mind. His eyes twinkled above his snowy beard as the Company looked at him, but he said nothing more.

"It's not natural." Glorin murmured darky, eying her from afar.

"Birds' aren't so…" He drifted off, unable to finish.

"Clever?" Fili finished for him and the Company murmured.

"She has to eat." His youngets nephew looked forlornly at the blackbird and Thorin sighed. Unable to resist pleasing his family, he stood and stretched. Pulling the meat from Kili's hand he nodded to the Company and walked to the base of the birds' tree. She peered down at him imperiously.

"Regal thing, aren't we?" He said and she cawed loudly. He looked down at the meat in his hand. It was some sort of dried rabbit Balin had procured from some village during his travels. It kept well, and definitely came in handy on the road, but it was hardly appetising.

"I know. It's hardly a feast, but it's the best we've got." He murmured to her. She puffed out her chest, fixing him with one round eye. Thorin brought the meat to his lips and she cawed again, loudly and indignantly. He grinned.

"Well, then come get it." He said, holding his hand flat. She tossed her head, clearly torn. Thorin waited patiently, his calm face belying the fact that his arm was fatiguing rapidly. She hopped down a few branches, and again, a memory pierced through the foggy recesses of his mind. As he grasped at it, Thorin hissed in pain – another bolt of agony ripping through his skull. The bird cawed, her eyes now a shimmering gold.

"What's going on...?"

"SHHHHHH!" The whole Company shushed Ori, who fell back into silence as they all watched with bated breath. Now Thorin could remember something. They'd done this before. He and this bird. He wasn't sure how they'd met, or when, but he was sure they had.

"Are we really going to do this again, M'Lady?" He murmured quietly, through teeth clenched against the pain in his head and arm. The bird drew itself up. It regarded him haughtily. It was a mere branch away now, and Thorin couldn't help by admire the gloss of its feathers.

"Aye, I remember. You're definitely not of Erebor, they never had just beautiful feathers." He noted and she seemed to make up her mind. She soared from her perch, coming to land on his outstretched arm. Her weight surprised him. She seemed barely to weigh anything – despite her size. She delicately pecked the dried meat from his palm, clutching it in one claw before tearing into it furiously. She made quick work of it, then preened on his arm.

"Would you mind swapping at all?" He asked, offering his other arm. She flapped and settled herself accordingly. The Company stood in silence.

"Witchcraft for sure, Sire." Nori murmured, and Glorin nodded beside him. Thorin shruggd, looking up to see Gandalf smirked from his seat by the fire.

"Aye, witchcraft." He murmured, before shaking his arm slightly. The black bird caught his meaning and took flight, she flapped once or twice around the glade, then disappeared from view.

OoOoOoOoOoO

As luck would have it, they were caught in a downpour of rain before they reached the River Bree, elt alone the town. For safety, they slowed the ponies so their footing was more secure on the dirt tracks, and oh how the Company grumbled. Thorin kept his thoughts to himself, but he shared his Company's disappointment. It would have been nice to rest in a bed. They made camp beneath a few overhanging beech trees, using their large boughs as protection from the wind and rain. With the wood and undergrowth soaked through, making a fire was next to impossible. He looked around, wanting to ask the Ishtar if he'd spare a bit of magic to make sure they didn't freeze to death before reaching the Mountain, but was surprised to find that he'd disappeared.

"Gandalf?" He called into the trees. The others paused in what they were doing, looking around for the wizard. A shape moved in the trees to his left. Thorin clutched his sword hilt, until he recognised the height of the figure. Gandalf emerged a moment later, a smile on his face.

"Oh, sorry about that." He said cheerfully, but offered no further explanation. The others went back to their work, and Thorin returned to his bedroll. Gandalf seated himself on a mossy root, reached into one of his many pockets and produced his pipe. When it was lit, the smell drifted around their little camp, created odd shapes in the dim light.

"I know Master Baggins isn't familiar with woods-craft, but surely some of you know how to make a fire?" A familiar, rasping voice called out of the gloom. The Company turned to see Ceridwyn striding out of the woods, her dark hair drenched through and her golden eyes glimmering even at a distance. Thoring scowled and ignored her.

"Ceridwyn!" His nephews called, walking over to her.

"We thought that you had abandoned us." Said Fili and Kili sighed heavily.

"We thought that Uncle might have scared you off." He said, and Thorin could feel all three of their gazes on him. Turning lazily he peered at them through the dark.

"Oh no, I just prefer to travel at a distance." She murmured and settled herself down on the damn ground in the centre of their makeshift camp. She looked at Balin and Dwalin.

"Too damp I take it?" She asked and they nodded.

"Aye, 'tis lass." Balin murmured and she smirked. She pointed to the wood near Dwalins' feet.

"Hand me those." She ordered and he bristled. She rolled her eyes.

"Please?" She added, and he chuckled, tossing the logs over. She caught them easily, then one by one she stacked them into a small pyramid. She leaned in close, her pale hands pressed to the wood, and whispered something. To everyone's surprise, steam began to rise from the pyramid. It continued like this for about a minute, before a flicker of light caught their gaze. Under her palms, flames were licking hungrily up the edges of the now dried-out wood. They quickly caught alight, and Ceridwyn rocked back on her heels, a small smile on her face. A cheer went up from the surrounding Dwarfs. They crowded about, getting ready to make some sort of potted meal and dry out their clothes. Ceridwyn herself stood back and came to sit with her back against one of the beach trees. She watched the camp silently, her golden eyes reflecting the flames.

"So, she is a witch." Thorin murmured to Gandalf and the wizard shrugged.

"She's Ceridwyn." The Ishtar replied, puffing away on his pipe.

Thorin couldn't argue with that.

…...

 **Khuzdul dictionary**

Azkad = shadow

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